


There's Dents In Every Cause

by Skyward_sarah



Series: We're in a special kind of hell [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Blood and Violence, Dogs, I also really fucked around with the canon ages and shit, Ingress!AU, M/M, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, alternate universe - urban sci-fi, can you feel the edge?, fanmix/playlist, loosely based on Ingress, mentions of aliens, non-explicit tourture, not everyone is in school, quality puns are made, sci-fi Romeo and Juliet that i didn't realize i was writing until i was finished, urban sci-fi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 23:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12758889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyward_sarah/pseuds/Skyward_sarah
Summary: By nature, humans are curious and creative beings. We seek out knowledge and forms of expression almost naturally. But where does this drive come from? The general agreement is that the human brain is just wired that way, but there are a few groups that have... theories as to why humans are the way we are. Shapers, these groups call them, are all to blame. Sure, our identity as human beings depends on the Shapers, they gave us the capacity to explore and interpret our surroundings. The real question that many are choosing to turn a blind eye to is "why." Why us? And why don't we get a say in our lives?





	1. You Know the Drill

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. Dear god writing this was a WILD RIDE. This is definitely the longest and most plot-driven fic I have ever written--let alone finish. Fun fact: at 15k words I scrapped the entire draft and started over. ye. That was a time and a half. 
> 
> So I wrote this monolithic piece for the OMGCP 2017 big bang! haha. It was a lot of fun and it was really great to meet other members of the community, all of them so enthusiastic and supportive. It was great, I got to work alongside so many fantastic people and I wish school had given me more time to talk to them all. I want to thank all of them for their encouragement and the motivation they gave me to stick with the project. 
> 
> If you haven't read the tags, this is an urban sci-fi fic that's EXTREMELY loosely based on the game Ingress brought to you by the same developer as Pokemon Go. The game itself is really hard to get into, but the lore and marketing tactics alone are enough of an incentive to look into it. This was an ambitious story to interpret and write, so I hope it flows as well as I hope.
> 
> My partner secretgeniusshittyknight was amazing enough to put together a playlist as well as make the banner. You can listen to it [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/augopher42/playlist/7nQ7lU7lCq8bcEpwjvOMtD) or try and hunt it down on spotify.

 

Eric’s feet slammed against the pavement, legs carrying him through downtown Boston. He struggled to pull his hoodie on as he navigated alleyways and around the few civilians left wandering the streets. From what his GPS told him, he still had a few more yards until he reached Chowder’s location.

Eric skid to a halt, and almost fell over in the process. He could see the portal’s distinct green light through his visor. In his hands, his scanner was pinging violently to the presence of Exotic Matter.

When he reached the portal, Eric called out to Chowder and pulled his hood over his head.

“Bitty! I’m so glad you made it, I don't think I would be able to set up all the resonators before one of the Enlightened shows up.” Chowder looked frazzled but was calmer now that Eric had arrived.

“It’s no problem, Chowder,” Eric said as he started to pick up a resonator. “When do you think the bursters are going to be finished?”

“They’re about ninety percent complete with the hack.”

Eric checked the resonator’s crystal for any cracks or imperfections. Anything wrong with it, and the device had the potential to burst. When he was satisfied he sat it on the ground, doing the same thing for three other resonators until they surrounded the portal.

“I’m sending the data from the bursters to Holster now,” Chowder said.

 _“Good work, Chow.”_ Lardo said through their ear pieces. _“Get those resonators up quickly, there are a bunch of civis out tonight. And you know how fun it is to try and answer their questions.”_

“I can talk my way out of anything, Lardo.” Eric synced two of the resonators to his scanner, and grinned when he felt the soft, subtle vibration of the implant against his molar.

_“I’d rather avoid it, Bits.”_

“Ready when you are, Chowder,” Eric said, his own voice sounding a bit foreign in his ears.  

“Swawesome, On three?” Chowder asked, his voice also sounded distorted, but that’s how Eric knew the implants were doing their job. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three.” With a press of a button on both of their scanners, the resonators lit up. The crystals inside started to glow an artificial fuchsia as it absorbed the Exotic Matter, and redirected it back through the portal. There was some Exotic Matter that the resonators couldn’t react with, but it was a significantly less amount being released than without the resonators.

Chowder pushed his visor up into his hair, and gave Eric a thumbs up. Eric took his own visor off, hanging them on the collar of his shirt. The resonators and portal disappeared without his visor on, and Eric was grateful for that. The last thing they needed was a bunch of people poking around the portal because they could see the resonators.

Eric helped Chowder pack up the bursters and his laptop. He hefted the duffle bag over his shoulder, and Chowder shrugged his backpack on and they started to head towards Chowder’s car.

They didn’t make it too far from the portal before they spotted him, leaning against a building across the street. He tactfully chose a spot where his face was obscured by a building’s shadow,  but the neon green patch sewn onto the man’s suit vest told Eric and Chowder who had been watching them. Spades.

“Has he been there the whole time?” Eric whispered to Chowder.

“I’m not sure. He wasn’t here when I arrived, and I didn’t move much from where I was sitting after I set up the bursters.” Chowder looked at Eric, silently asking if they should let him be or confront him like Shitty or Holster.

The implants were still on, so if they really wanted to try and get information out of Spades, they could try.

“This is the third time this week he’s shown up.” Eric sighed, this whole intimidation act was getting out of hand and old. Shitty and Holster might get all miffed about Spades being around, but Eric wasn’t itching for a fight like they were. “Just ignore him, Chowder. He’s proven multiple times over that he isn’t going to do anything to the portal or us.”

“Okay,” Chowder said.

They started walking again, and Eric kept Spades in his peripherals. When Spades slipped into the alleyway, Eric relaxed a bit and sped up his pace.

Eric finally took his hood off once they were safely in Chowder’s car. They both let out a loud breath and glanced at each other. Eric cracked a smile at Chowder, who broke into a fit of giggles. They both laughed off the stress and tension wound up in their gut and headed back to the Haus.

Eric lingered under the hot spray of the shower, letting the adrenaline wash out of his system and let him mind catch up. His legs felt heavy and they were sore for the intense running he did to find Chowder.

Eric was heading back to Samwell on the shuttle when Lardo called about the portal. Chowder was visiting Farmer in the hospital, and both of them were closer to the portal than anyone at the base. He didn’t even think before he was asking the shuttle driver to let him off. He called Chowder to see if he had any bursters and resonators, thank god he did, and rushed over. It was hectic, and Chowder was probably upset for having to leave Farmer so suddenly.

There was a knock on the door, making Eric jump almost out of his skin.

“Bits, bro, you mind finishing up soon? I want to get a blood sample before the XM is worked out of your system.” Ransom yelled through the door.

“No problem, Rans.”

Eric rinsed the rest of the shampoo out of his hair, and changed into a pair of sweats and a tank top. He met Ransom downstairs in the kitchen where Ransom had his supplies spread out.

“You know the drill, Bits.” Ransom said, scrubbing his hands thoroughly in the sink.

“We really need to renovate the junk room down stairs,” Eric said, making a face at Ransom. “This is unsanitary as hell.”

Ransom laughed. “You disinfected this place like three hours ago, and all my tools are fresh out of the packaging.”

“But what about the food I make here, Justin?”

“Then I’ll wipe everything down with bleach.” Ransom pulled on rubber gloves and Eric stretched out his arm.

“Not on this table.” Eric tried to relax as Ransom tied the tourniquet around his arm, and made a fist when he was told to. “There is a bottle of Simple Green under the sink.”

Eric turned away when Ransom cleaned his arm and inserted the needle. He unclenched the fist when Ransom said so.

“Staying over tonight?” Ransom asked. “Chow is spending the night over at Dex’s place.”

“I don’t have much of a choice.” Eric sighed and looked over at the clock on the oven. “The last shuttle left thirty minutes ago.”

“Tough luck, bro.” Eric felt when Ransom removed the needle from his arm and pressed a gauze pad to the puncture wound. “All done. Want a princess band-aid, spongebob, or regular?”

“What princesses do you have?”

“Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and Cinderella.”

“Regular band-aid, please.”

They both laughed, and Ransom sent Eric on his way. He made his way upstairs, almost dead on his feet. Eric let himself into one of the spare bedrooms and flopped down face first onto the bed. He let out a groan then went in search of the chargers he knew were stashed in the desk drawer. Eric fished out one for his phone and another for his scanner, plugged them in and passed out in minutes of his head hitting the pillow.

* * *

 Trying to sit through his lecture the next morning was almost torturous. As much as he loved Professor Atley’s class, there was a reason he tried to leave on the shuttle last night. Eric just barely had time to grab a cup of coffee from Alice’s, yet it wasn’t enough to keep him alert throughout the class.

He spent most of the lecture fighting to keep his eyelids open and doodling in his notebook. Eric didn’t hear anything Professor Atley was saying, and he genuinely felt bad about that. It was an interesting class, and Eric practically bribed his way in.

Juggling his duties as a Resistance member and being a full-time student was wiping Eric of all his energy. He was surprised he was able to do it for so long. He’d think that after a year he would have been able to find a balance, but there he was, struggling to stay awake in class and barely getting homework done.

Professor Atley ended the class by handing out a rubric on the first project of the semester. Eric sat up a bit in his seat as she went over the directions. He wasn’t used to having to put in the research when it came to cooking. He learned the history of each recipe through his mama and Moomaw’s stories. The last thing Eric wanted to do was explain _why_ mac and cheese or an apple pie was considered a comfort food.

He polished off his, now cold, latte and made his way towards Founders. Getting his calc homework done was his first priority. Eric found a table deserted table towards the front entrance, and at any other time in the semester could be impossible.

Thirty minutes later, Eric was ready to call it quits. C’s get degrees and his lowest homework grade gets dropped. So long as he got more than three problems in, he should be set for the rest of the semester. Fuck gen eds.

Eric let out a groan and dropped his head into his textbook, earning glares from other students. Maybe if he pressed his face into the book hard enough, the numbers would soak up into his brain and suddenly make sense. They didn’t.

There was a light tap on the table, and Eric turned his head to see who was getting his attention. And in that moment, he was kicking himself for not changing out of the clothes from last night.

“Bittle, right?” the man asked.

_Oh no, he’s hot._

As nice as the man was to look at, Eric was skeptical about his intentions. As nice open and friendly as Samwell was, not every student was going to be a shining example of acceptance.

“My name’s Jack, we’re in the same class.” Jack said, with an accent Eric couldn’t quite place and set his project rubric on the table in front of Eric’s face. “Can you explain the essay to me?”

Okay wow, that threw Eric for a loop. Eric didn’t really recognize Jack, but that could be due to many factors, and how drained his job left him being the biggest factor.

Eric sat up and rubbed his face. “Yeah, of course. Take a seat.”

Jack did so, and Eric moved his calc textbook out of the way, happy for the distraction. Jack pulled out his notebook and pen and furrowed his brows. Eric skimmed over the rubric again, knowing that he didn’t really listen to how Professor Ately explained it.

“So you see this list of dishes with the year next to them?” Eric asked, and Jack nodded. “Each year here is when these foods were considered popular comfort food. A culture’s food has a tendency to reflect what they value. What Atley wants from us is to pick one of these dishes, research the time period it was popular in America, then try and figure out why these foods were important and considered comfort foods.”

Jack was taking notes while Eric explained the assignment. His frown growing as he tried to wrap his head around what was being asked of him. Eric waited until Jack looked back up at him.

“You get it or do you need an example?”

“I think I understand.” Jack paused and looked down at his notebook, then back up at the rubric. “And we don’t… have to make any of these right?”

Eric let a small smile tug on the corner of his lips. “No, that’s the final. All though I hope that we get the opportunity to do so before the final. I’m not too good at following old recipes. These better ingredients exist! Like hell I’m going to make an apple pie out of red delicious apples.”

Jack just looked at Eric with a blank face, and Eric realized he overstepped a bit. He immediately brought his enthusiasm back into check, schooling his wide smile into submission.

“Okay,” Jack said slowly. He packed up his things and stood. “Thanks for the help, Bittle. I’ll see you in class, eh?”

Eric waited until Jack left Founders to get angry with himself. He kicked the table’s leg and frowned. The only social interaction Eric has had in weeks that wasn’t a class discussion or with any of the other Resistance members and he fucked it up.

_Great way to ensure that he doesn’t talk to you again, Eric._

Whatever, it didn’t matter anyway because Eric had a class in an hour, and changing into clothes that made him feel more human sounded better than going back to his calc homework.

* * *

They didn’t hold meetings often, so when Eric walked through the door and Lardo demanded his presence in the living room, he knew it was serious.

Eric was perched on the arm of the couch, and waited for others to show up and take their own seats. The heavy atmosphere kept everyone quiet until everyone was accounted for.

Lardo stood in front of the tv and crossed her arms. “Spades is showing up more and more often. Whether he is just trying to throw us off our game, or he’s preparing to make a declaration of war is unknown as of now. For the past four years, the Enlightened activity here in Boston has been relatively low, and I think that’s because of Spades. No one else has been bold enough to show up at the same portals as us so far. It’s only fair to assume he is calling the shots.

“That being said, none of you are to make contact with him in the field. I don’t want to risk our portals because you dumbasses want to pick a fight.”

Both Shitty and Holster loudly protested.

“So he can get away with being a creepy little bitch? Fucker doesn’t have the balls to confront us.”

“It’s only a matter of time before he starts tearing down our resonators, why don’t we just make sure that he doesn’t?”

“Because,” Lardo snapped, “I want to avoid a brawl. Leave the fighting to another base. We’ve been lucky enough as it is to have as many portals under our control as we do. I don’t want to give Spades a reason to destroy all our hard work.”

Lardo took a moment to collect herself, and allow the others to mull over their feelings towards Spades. Eric didn’t have an opinion on him either way; sure he was their enemy, but Spades hasn’t done anything since his arrival in Boston. It was conflicting because Eric knew he was bad news, he just hasn’t given Eric any reason to think that way other than being an Enlightened.

Lardo motioned for Holster to join him upfront. He hooked his computer up to the tv, and opened files after files until he found what he was looking for. It was a line graph, with a steady rate of growth, then a sharp incline. Sharp inclines were never good.

“This is the data I’ve gathered from every portal over three years. For a while, the amount of Exotic Matter produced from a portal was at a steady and predictable increase. One that we could compensate for by upgrading our resonators and putting more and more at each portal. However, over the past six months there has been a sudden spike in XM.” Holster explained. “I think the Shapers are starting to make a move.”

There was a pregnant pause followed by the room exploding with swears, arguing, and worried questions. Lardo let them all run out of steam before letting Holster continue.

“I’m getting in touch with other Resistance bases all over the east coast to see if my data matches up with theirs. Whether it’s just Boston, or all over, be careful of XM sickness. Try getting bursters and resonators up, ASAP. And if that means needing more than two pairs of hands, let Lardo know right away.”

Eric sat quietly in shock. Distantly, Eric knew that the Shapers were going to do _something_ , but he hoped that it would be a hundred years into the future, where he was long dead. Eric knew he signed up for a war when he joined the Resistance, but Boston’s peace lulled him into a state of obliviousness. He could distance himself from London that was down to single digits in terms of members, and from Perth where with every new portal, the Enlightened put multiple Resistance members in the hospital.

It was a fight for humanity's future; The Resistance stood against the Shapers and their unclear motives. Eric had met Farmer, he had seen videos of Dex’s sister, and if XM--this supposedly magical substance that “enlightened, inspired creativity, and transcended the human mind to a new age”-- drove people insane when exposed to high levels, it wasn’t something to be forced upon people.

Humanity was no longer at the whim of nature. If they wanted to embrace “evolution” they could make that decision on their own, not have it forced upon them by these all mighty beings who kept their cards close to their chest.

* * *

Eric held his latte in his hands as he tried to wrap his head around conjugations. He had never been good with languages, and French was single-handedly making Eric consider dropping out so he would no longer have to deal with the foreign language requirement. The teacher already insisted on only speaking French in class, which drove Eric up a fucking wall because everyone else in that damn class could understand--or at least piece together what she was saying enough to answer her questions or do the assignments. If French 110 was kicking his ass, getting to a 300 level was going to be impossible.

He took a sip from his mug and ran a hand through his hair. Eric wasn’t going to let himself get frustrated, just because he didn’t understand it didn’t mean Eric couldn’t learn it. He could join a study group, or get a tutor. But with what time?

There was always the option to cut back his hours at the Haus, Lord knows that someone will be able to pick up his shifts. Spending less time at the Haus meant baking less, and if Eric wasn’t there to cook up a storm then the rest of the guys would be stuck eating cup noodles and eggs. Like those boys needed more sodium in their diets. If they didn’t eat well, then they wouldn’t have the energy to respond to portals, and then Spades would swoop in and--

“Bittle?”

Eric’s name pulled him out of his anxiety and frustration fueled train of thought. He looked up and found Jack standing at the edge of his table with a frown plastered on.

“Hi, Jack!” Eric tried to sound chipper despite the emotional and mental rollercoaster he just experienced. “What brings you here?”

“I was just picking up some coffee before I go study,” He said motioning towards the counter. “But, uh, since you’re here I wanted to thank you again for the other day.”

Eric softened his expression a bit, letting his smile fall to a more genuine size. “It was no problem, but I appreciate you comin’ over to say so.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jack cleared his throat and nodded at Eric’s textbook. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Eric waved the apology off. “Don’t worry bout it. I needed the distraction anyways. Thank _you_ for being a distraction.”

As soon as Eric said it, he wanted to kick himself. _Who says something like that? Eric Richard Bittle and anyone with a death wish, that’s who._

Obviously feeling uncomfortable, Jack rubbed the back of his neck and changed the topic. “So, um, French? How’s that going?”

“About as well as catching a slippery hog.” One look at the confusion on Jack's face told Eric that it flew right over his head. “Not good; it’s hard,” Eric back peddled.

“I don’t know how much help I could be,” Jack hesitated before pulling out the chair across from Eric and sitting in it. “But, I grew up in Montreal. What are you stuck on?”

“Oh, no, Jack you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine.” Jack pulled the textbook in front of himself and started looking over its contents.

Eric looked at Jack for a moment, and let his smile come back. “Okay, thanks.”

Jack helped Eric through conjugation exercises that were found in the textbook, explaining the difference between -ir, -er, and -re verbs in the present tense. And it was… nice. Jack made the material easier for the material to digest by explaining it differently until Eric got it. By the time he had finished all the optional exercises, Eric felt like he had a better grasp on everything.

Eventually, the textbook found its way back into Eric’s bag, but he and Jack continued to talk about all kinds of things. Like that Jack was a senior and History Major, and took Atley’s class because it counted both as a history credit and a diverse perspective credit. Like that Jack was fascinated with history, and how people developed over the centuries and what lead up to the events happening today. Like that Eric was still undecided, and his deadline for picking a major was hanging over him like a dark cloud. Like that Eric could bake almost anything, with or without a recipe and how he never wanted to give it up.

He still put up the front of brooding asshole, but Eric could tell Jack was warming up to him the longer they sat and talked. Eric felt almost like a normal college student, and it sent a thrill through his veins. He wanted to hold onto that feeling for as long as possible.

But Eric wasn’t excluded from Murphy’s Law.

His scanner started going nuts in his pocket, and Jack’s phone lit up with a call. Jack’s frown grew deeper when he saw the caller ID.

“Sorry, it’s um. It’s my dad--my bo--it’s work.” Jack quickly scribbled something onto Eric’s notebook and rose from the chair. “Text me, maybe we could study again sometime.”

When Jack was out the door, Eric finally looked at his scanner. It looked like there was a new portal somewhere on main street, close to Annie’s. He swore under his breath, capturing a portal in broad daylight was a hellish nightmare.

Eric shoved the rest of his notebooks into his bag and called the Haus’ landline. After he notified Holster, he started to reach out to Chowder, Shitty, and Lardo to see if any of them were in the area and had bursters and resonators on hand. Chowder was still in a lab, and Lardo was in a studio session, but Shitty was already at his apartment and putting on real clothes when Eric called.

Eric sprinted back onto campus and up to his dorm. He threw on his hoodie, pushed his visor into his hair and jammed his earpiece into place. A quick look under his bed and in his closet supplied Eric with one burster and resonator each. They were put into a duffle bag, and Eric followed the direction Holster was feeding him through the earpiece.

Between Holster’s baritone, the adrenaline pumping into Eric’s system, and the soft buzz of his implant, Eric didn’t even think to look at what Jack had written in his notebook.


	2. Chirp Me

It was times like these that Eric was glad his implant existed. As he tried to explain to two older women that,  _ no,  _ Shitty was not writing graffiti, and  _ yes,  _ this was an art project they were installing in this very remote alleyway, he was glad they wouldn’t be able to recognize his voice. Civies were the reason daytime portals sucked. Eric understood their curiosity, but coming up with on the spot lies were probably shaving a few years off his life expectancy. 

Luck was on their side though, because it was a relatively small portal compared to the others he had seen in the past month. It only needed two resonators, one of which Shitty had in his car, but still took awhile while one burster did the work needed by two of them. Usually, the number of bursters needed for a portal was equal to the number of resonators needed. That didn’t always happen though, so weakening the portal to a point where two resonators would take twice as long as if there were two bursters.

There hadn’t been any sign of Spades yet, which Eric was eternally grateful for. Eric didn’t need the extra pressure his presence would bring. The adrenaline was already washing out of his bloodstream and he could feel the looming crash that would come later. 

But where adrenaline exited, XM entered. The slight twitching of his fingers was a telltale sign, and he had done this long enough to keep his cool around portals, so Eric wasn’t as jumpy as he should have been. He still felt like he was itching to crawl out of his skin though, and Shitty must have been feeling worse because of his close proximity to the portal. 

_ “Do you need me to send Dex or Nursey over with a few more bursters?”  _ Holster asked.

“Honestly? That’d be real fuckin’ nice.” Shitty pushed himself to his feet and looked over at Eric. “Bits, do you mind taking over for a hot second. I feel like I’m suffocating over here.” 

“Go, sit down Shits.” Eric tapped Shitty out and linked his scanner to the bursters. They were only thirty percent into the hack, which felt wrong. A portal of this size, even with one burster shouldn’t be at thirty percent. “Holster, I’m going to send you the data as I get it because these numbers don’t look right.”

_ “Thanks bro, I’m sending Nursey over now, and I'll have Dex look at the portal’s data.”  _

“Shitty, text Lardo and Chowder that we need an ETA from them. The longer it’s just us the less we are going to be able to do.” Eric looked over at Shitty, who was sitting with his head between his knees. He gave Eric a numbs up and pulled out his phone. 

_ “Bitty?”  _ Dex was patched into his earpiece, and the sudden voice made Eric jump a bit.  _ “I’m looking at the numbers now, and for a portal that small, it’s producing a large amount of XM. The reason why the burster is taking so long is that instead of needing two bursters, you need four.” _

“Last thing I wanted to hear, Dexy.” Shitty laughed.

_ “I know Lardo isn’t here to give orders,”  _ Holster said,  _ “But I’m suggesting to abandon the burster, regroup with Nursey and come back when you have everything you need.”  _

“Holster, we can’t just--”

_ “We talked about this the other day, Bitty. If you wait at the portal for Nursey, you will get XM sickness. This is an order, Bitty; get out.” _

Eric looked from Shitty to the portal and back again. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and did as he was told. “Shitty, get up. We’re leaving.”

* * *

Several hours later and one captured portal later, Shitty was rambling on the gross couch about double standards and the glass ceiling. Ransom made sure there was always a bottle of Gatorade in his hands to flush out as much of the XM as quickly as possible. Eric was more coherent than Shitty, so as long as he was staying active the XM would work it’s way out naturally.

Holster, Dex, and Lardo were in one of the dens, hashing out their options. From what Eric could hear in the kitchen, they were looking into upgrading their bursters. Ollie and Wicky had been brainstorming a few ideas since the meeting, it was only a problem of resources. 

Eric tried not to worry about it too much. Lardo would figure out what to do. 

Ransom made his way into the kitchen to grab a slice of pie and give Eric a quick checkup.

“How’s he going to be?” Eric asked.

“He’ll be fine by morning, at least that’s what Dr. Murray says. He has been working with Shitty a lot longer than I have so, he’s got a better idea.” Ransom opened a small notebook and clicked his pen. “How are you feeling right now?”

Eric took a moment to assess himself. “Less jittery than before. My mind isn’t racing either.”

“That’s good,” Ransom said as he jotted down Eric’s answer. “So, the Chicago base has broken ground on something and I was going to ask Lardo about it, but I want a field agent’s perspective first.” 

“What is it?” Eric said, sliding a batch of cookies into the oven. 

“The researchers there have developed a new medicine. It builds up the body’s tolerance to Exotic Matter. They want to send it out to other bases for trial runs, of course, it’s not FDA approved, but Murray looked over their research and he thinks that we should give it a go.” Ransom looked up at Eric, waiting for his input.

Eric wasn’t so quick to accept the proposal. There was a bunk of risks involved, and the cautious part of Eric wanted to turn it down in case it hurt one of their agents. But he couldn’t argue the benefits of having a tolerance to XM. It would allow them to stay at portals longer, and today was proof enough that the amount of XM per portal was increasing, they would need to be able to work longer and more efficiently. 

“I think,” Eric started slowly, “that in light of recent events and information, it wouldn’t hurt to try. But in case there are major side effects, don’t have everyone in the base take it. Maybe more active field agents like Shitty, Chowder or I. But ultimately it’s up to Lardo.”

“Yeah, I was going to talk to her about it once she’s done with Holtzy and Dex.” 

“Rrrrraannnnssss,” Shitty groaned from the living room. “Where'd ya go? I wasn’t done looking at your beautiful fucking face. He has such nice cheekbones.” 

Eric and Ransome both grinned. Shitty was out of the red when it came to XM sickness, so anything he does now could be used to chirp him within an inch of his life. 

* * *

The week seemed to drag on into oblivion. After the last portal, activity was fairly slow. Most of the guys used that time to either get shit-faced or get shit done. Eric was able to crunch out a good first draft of his essay for Atley, but calc and French were more stubborn. He thought back to some of the techniques Jack taught--

_ Jack. _

Eric rummaged through his bag until he found the notebook he had out when he was talking to Jack at Annie’s. He flipped through the pages twice, missing the message the first time around. When he found it though, a wide smile broke onto Eric’s face

In small, messy scrawl, Jack left his phone number and a small note.  _ Thanks again - Jack.  _

He immediately punched the number into his phone and sent Jack a text. 

**Eric** **_(2:20)_ ** **:** _ Hey! It’s Eric Bittle. Sorry, I'm getting back to you so late, it just slipped my mind. How are you? _

Eric didn’t hear them enter the kitchen, but Holster and Ransom quickly made themselves known by snatching Eric’s phone out of his hands and picking him up. 

“Ooooh, what do we got here?” Holster grinned as he looked through Eric’s phone.

“Justin set me down this instance!” Eric yelped, hitting Ransom on his back when he was thrown over the man’s shoulder. “Adam, snooping is rude! Stop that and let me down this instant!”

“No way little dude, tell us what you were smiling at, huh? Notebooks and phones aren’t that interesting.” Ransom punctuated his statement by bouncing and shaking Eric.

“He texted back!” Holster shouted. “Guy’s punctual. ‘ _ It’s fine, Bittle. Happens to everyone.’  _ Who is this guy and why does he call you by your last name?”

“He’s in one of my classes, and was helping me with French. Will you let me go now?” Eric made a grab for his phone, but Ransom turned him the other way. 

“We’re just trying to look out for ya, Bits.” Holster locked the phone and set it on the counter. “So give us the deets. Is he cute?”

“If I answer that will you leave me be?”

“Maybe,” Ransom said.

Eric let out a frustrated groan. “Yes, he’s very fucking attractive and probably straight. Can you please stop manhandling me now?” 

Holster shrugged, and Ransom put Eric down on the floor. And now that he was on solid ground, Eric could put for force and momentum into his punches. First Ransom in the gut, and then Holster in the ribs. They both let out a pained groan.

“Come on, Bits.”

“We were trying to be supportive bros.”

“You two need to mind your own damn business. See how much you like it when I stop cooking for you.”

They whined, but a grin was growing on Eric’s lips. He knew they meant well, but that didn’t stop them from being complete idiots. 

Eric picked up his phone again to reply to Jack.  

**Jack** **_(3:23pm)_ ** **:** _ It’s fine, Bittle. Happens to everyone.  _

**Jack** **_(2:24pm)_ ** **:** _ Do you have time this week to meet up? I’m still unsure about this essay and it would help if you could look over it.  _

**Eric** **_(2:24pm)_ ** **:** _ Of course! As long as you help me with my flashcards.  _

**Jack** **_(2:25pm)_ ** **:** _ Haha, okay.  _

Eric bit back his smile, knowing that Ransom and Holster were going to bombard him with questions. 

* * *

Jack sat quietly on the other side of the table, outlining his thesis while Eric was skimming over his essay. It was. Straightforward. Well researched to a point where it felt stiff. It felt like the essays he used to write in high school. Detached and impersonal.

“Have you ever thought about writing a narrative essay?” Eric asked.

Jack looked up at him with a frown. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m not an English Major, so I don’t know how much it would help, but this feels… clinical.” Eric took out a red pen and crossed out the opening paragraph. “Narrative essays tell a story of some sort. They can still have research and facts, but it makes the essay feel like it has some kind of life to it.”

Jack just stared at Eric, confused and kind of intimidating. 

“So, example: I wrote about meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and I used my own experiences of nostalgia to kick off my thesis statement, which was that comfort foods today invoke a longing for simpler times. Because with how hectic my life can get, every time I eat my MooMaw’s  apple pie I feel like a kid again, and don’t have to worry about college and taxes and that makes everything a little more bearable for the time being.” 

Jack was starting to nod his head like he understood. 

“And I just feel like your essay would benefit from that kind of touch. Make this an opportunity to show Atley who you are.” 

“I see what you’re saying.” Jack started to chew on the cap of his pen absent mindedly. “I just don’t know how to do that.”

Eric smiled at Jack. “That’s okay. It’s not everyone’s style. But if this was difficult for you, maybe trying a new writing style will make it easier.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you would make a good teacher?”

That caught Eric off guard. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I think you would make a good teacher,” Jack said again. He jotted a few more notes down like what he just said wasn’t a big deal. “You have the personality for it, you’re patient and take the time to explain something in a way others will get it.”

Eric was stunned into silence.

“I’m not saying you should be an Ed Major though, just that it’s what you naturally do.” Jack closed the notebook and pulled Eric’s flashcards in front of him. “How about we do ten, then take a break?”

Eric blinked and brought himself back into the moment. “Uh, yea. Okay.” 

It took Eric thirty minutes to get through ten cards. The frustration was enough to make him scream. He knew what the words meant and what the translation was, but he couldn’t get them out. Every word left Eric’s mouth kicking and screaming, refusing to cooperate. By the time he finally finished, he had a lump in his throat and his good mood was spoiled. 

Everyone else was picking it up and the fact that the language refused to work reminded him of elementary school. It made him feel dumb and slow and that he had to work ten times harder than his peers. Like he was left out of an inside joke from years ago and no one wanted to fill him in. 

He stomped down that feeling in his gut and reached into his bag, pulling out a small bag of cookies. “Do you want some?” he asked, putting the bag in the middle of the table.

Jack smiled softly. “Did you make them?” 

“Yes I did, and from scratch too.” Even though he knew it was a bad habit, bragging made him feel a little less horrible. “None of that store bought crap my friends insist on eating raw.”

The sound Jack made when he bit into the cookie made his heart flutter and stomach twist. “This is really good, Bittle.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Eric worried his lip between his teeth, “I’m almost always baking something, and that leaves me a lot of goods to push onto strangers. Let me know if you want something in particular.” 

Jack’s laugh was small, but it was enough to making the frustrating flashcards tolerable. “How much of that food do you eat yourself? If you wanna stay that skinny, you’re gonna want to eat some protein.” 

Eric rolled his eyes, but still smiled. “I’ll let you know that I do enough exercise to burn off anything I eat, thank you very much.”

“And here you are, lacking muscle definition.” Jack chirped. 

“Here _ I am _ , nice enough to offer you almost unlimited pie, and you chirp me.”

They talked like that for a while, switching between flashcards and casual conversation. Sometimes Jack would try and fix Eric’s pronunciation, but tried not to do it too often. By the end of their study session, Eric didn’t feel as confident as he did that day in Annie’s. It left him with a verse familiar sense of shame and stupidity.

Jack picked up on his frustration pretty easily. Whenever Eric got too worked up over a word or phrase, he would let him take a break and come back to it when Eric was ready. Eric was grateful for it, because when he was struggling in elementary and middle school, no one ever came to help him. 

His time with Jack seemed to almost slip through his fingers, leaving him searching for more conversation topics. But a string of texts Jack received put into perspective how long he and Jack were in Founders.

“I’m sorry,” Jack sighed. “Something happened at work and they need me there.”

“It’s no problem, Hon.” Eric said without thinking.

Jack freezed, unsure of how to respond to the petname.

“Oh my Lord, I’m so sorry. Did that make you uncomfortable? Oh no I made you uncomfortable. Uhm, forget I said it, and I’ll promise not to do it again.” Eric babbled, hoping that if he apologized and promised not to do it again, Jack would still talk to him.

“Oh, no, it’s okay. Caught me off guard is all.” the corners of Jack’s lips. He gathered up his belongings and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Thanks again, Bittle. I’ll text you.”

Eric sat at the table for a few more minutes, smiling down at his phone because as soon as Jack left the building, he texted Eric, asking when they could meet up again. Eric briefly wondered if this was what having a life was like.

The walk back to his dorm was quiet. He listened to music and made sure to keep an eye out for any signs of a Portal. Even though it had been slow recently, Eric had been on edge--waiting for shit to hit the fan. 

He got a total of two minutes of downtime before a call from Lardo lit up his phone.

“What’s up, Lards? I’m not on shift tonight.”

“Bitty, do you think you could grab Chowder and get here as quickly as possible?” She asked. 

Eric glanced at the time on his phone. “Lards it’s like almost eleven.”

“I know, but it’s important. We have some visitors.”


	3. A Question of When

Eric could officially say that this was the most uncomfortable thing he had ever experienced. Everyone’s nerves were kicked up to high gear, as they tried to appear competent and qualified to do their jobs. 

So when Georgia Martin, head of the Providence Resistance base, showed up at their dinky Haus they call a base, everyone went nuts.

Lardo led her and three of her subordinates to the kitchen table, Eric closed the blinds and made started busying his hands with pie crust. The boys all jammed themselves into the kitchen, trying to look put together and serious like they weren’t trying to see who could chug the most sriracha sauce almost two hours ago.

“Frist of all,” Georgia said, “I would like to thank you for opening both your home and base to us. It was a kind offer, but we have hotel rooms booked.”

“Of course, it’s no problem,” Lardo said. 

“Feel free to call me George.” She gestured to the two men to her right. “This is Marty and Thirdy, they are technically field agents but now of days they act as security.”

Marty and Thirdy greeted everyone, with smiles and small waves. Eric swore he heard Chowder whisper “She has bodyguards.”

George then introduced the man on her left. “This is Tater, he’s a more active field agents and will be lending a hand while we are in town.”

Tater grinned and stretched his hand out to Lardo. “Nice to meet you all. Looking forward to helping.” 

Lardo took his hand and gave it a nice firm shake. “We’re happy to have you, Tater.” Satisfied with his handshake, Tater sat back in his seat, smiling and waiting. He was kind of like a puppy.

“So,” Lardo said, “I assume you are here because we reached out to Providence, inquiring about your recent XM levels. To be honest, I was just expecting an email or call, but this works too.”

George gave a polite smile. “We felt like this was something that needed to be discussed in person.”

“So,” Holster ventured, “I was right? Your XM levels are spiking and you don’t know why right?”

George pressed her lips into a thin line. “Yes. We have been monitoring them closely, but we haven’t had the time to dedicate a research team to it. When you reached out to us, Adam--”

“Holster.”

“When you reached out to us, Holster, we were quite shocked. We want to help you continue your research. Same goes for Justin--”

“Ransom.”

“Same goes for, Ransom. Whether it’s providing more funding, hands, or materials Providence is big enough to share.”

Eric could see the mix of emotions running through his teammates. 

“Look, George. I hope you can understand but we don’t want the fucking carpet pulled out from under us. If the help you all want to offer us, is making my beautiful bros relocate than we aren’t fucking taking it.” Shitty said. Eric let the language slide, because Shitty had put on pants for this meeting and that was a win enough.  

Marty laughed. “Oh, no, Kiddo. We aren’t moving you around. We actually think Boston is a great place to conduct research on the XM levels.”

“I don’t understand,” Dex said from where he had joined Eric in the pie making process. “What makes Boston more special than, I don't know? Gettysburg?”

Thirdy riffled through his pants pocket and pulled out a small, metallic cube. He tapped the button on top, and a large holographic globe was projected into the air. A chorus of ‘ooh's and ‘aww’s filled the room. It wasn’t long until Dex, Wicky, and Ollie were bombarding Thirdy with questions about how it worked. 

“Boys!” 

They retreated back to their original stations, more afraid of a mad Lardo than curious about the projection cube. The globe was covered in dots of various sizes and colors, Thirdy touched the projection cube again, and the globe started to rotate. 

“As we know, portals pop up in densely populated areas. The higher a city’s population, the more likely it will be for portals of various sizes to appear. Another thing we have noticed are that cities that have a historical background, with monuments, state parks, anywhere that seems culturally important are 85 percent more likely to have a portal open at these sites.” Thirdy pointed to a few of the areas on the globe that had large clusters of portals. “It’s like the Shapers are hand picking each location a portal opens. Trying to be as efficient as possible.”

“That being said,” George clasped her hands, “we would like to used Boston as one of the primary locations to continue our research.”

“It’s been pretty slow lately,” Nursey said, “I don’t know if there will be enough portals opening up to get the data you need.”

“It’s not a question of  _ ‘if’ _ a portal will open.” George took a deep breath and looked Lardo dead in the eye. “It’s a question of  _ ‘when.’ _ ”

* * *

Shitty offered to give the Providence agents a tour of the base Haus while Lardo had a hushed conversation with Hall over the phone. Hall handed over the reigns of the base to Lardo half way through Eric’s freshman year, and she was doing a fantastic job, but there were times when she still needed his guidance. George's proposal was one of those times.

Everyone agreed that having the extra help would be fantastic, especially when things get hectic. But Holster and Ransom were hesitant to jump at the offer. For now, they were offering resources, but how long would that last? They were terrified of being forced to hand their research over to another base. To have their blood, sweat, and data given to  _ real  _ scientists. Ones who have graduated and have a Ph.D., not an entry-level number cruncher and a grad student. 

Even though they were promised that they were still leading the teams, that didn’t mean that someone could take their idea, thesis, and data and run wild with it, claiming ownership. Having other researchers breathing down their necks wasn’t their idea of fun either. 

It left Eric conflicted. He wanted to be able to help Providence, they were all working towards the same goal. But he along with a few others were starting to feel territorial. They may have downsized from when the Resistance was first founded, but they still held their ground. All ten, sometimes eleven if Murray feels like checking up on them, worked their asses off to keep their grasp on Boston. As tiring as it was, they were proud of their work. 

“Collaboration isn’t a bad thing,” Nursey said. “We did it all the time in New York. Too big of a city for one base to control.”

“Well this isn’t the fucking _ Big Apple,  _ Nurse. We don’t need the help. Yea sure, having another field agent would be nice, sometimes I need Chowder here at the base while he’s at a portal. But I fucking suck it up, because we have a system.” Dex was fuming, roughly kneading dough so he didn’t have to look at his team members. “We can do things for ourselves.”

“Oh, yea? And weren’t you one of the people who wanted to help Chicago’s research?”

“That’s different, they’re doing drug trials. They are gonna save people. People like Farmer, my sister, and all those other helpless people the Enlightened keep under surveillance.” 

“So, Providence isn’t trying to help people?”

Dex was red from frustration, he worked the dough and tried to keep his hands from shaking with anger. 

Eric was glad he didn’t give Dex a knife. 

“It’s not our call,” Eric said, trying to play peacekeeper. “They didn’t even have to ask us, you know. They could’ve just set up somewhere and gotten the data from our resonators. George also seems interested in Ransoms work too.”

“Whatever, it’s chill.” Nursey spun on his heels and walked out of the kitchen.

Eric let out a sigh and went back to preparing the raspberries. They worked quietly, and Eric relieved Dex of baking duty when he stuck the dough in the freezer. Chowder chatted with Eric a bit, but it was late at night and everyone was feeling drowsy. 

He hadn’t seen Lardo since she went to make her call, and since it was almost two in the morning he assumed that she was going to make the decision in the morning. The few people who did live at the Haus were all probably asleep as well, while the Providence agents were in the basement talking looking at Ollie and Wicky’s tech. 

Eric nudged Chowder from where he had fallen asleep with his head against the kitchen table. “If you’re gonna sleep, do it in one of the spare rooms, sweetheart.”

Chowder gave him a tired smile. “Okay. Night, Bitty.”

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Eric scrolled through Twitter, liking and retweeting memes he thought the other boys would like. Once his timeline stopped refreshing with new content, Eric found himself rereading his texts between him and Jack. 

**Jack** **_(10:31pm)_ ** **:** _ Boring, it’s just a meeting, everyone is worried for no reason.  _

**Eric** **_(1:47am)_ ** **:** _ Hey, are you still up? _

**Jack** **_(1:48am)_ ** **:** _ Unfortunately. What’s up? _

Eric hesitated before he pushed the call button. Jack might not want to talk to him, he might even be busy. Well, if he was busy he wouldn’t have responded so quickly. Eric held his breath and hoped. 

Jack picked up after the second ring. “Bittle?”

Eric let out a shaky laugh, his heart racing for really no reason. “Hey, Jack. Sorry, I know it’s late, but I can’t really sleep right now. I’m thinking about finishing this pie and throwing it in the oven but I’m afraid of burning the house down. So I figured I’d call and chat while it bakes.”

“Oh, yea, no that’s fine.” Eric could hear the slow, small smile threatening to take over Jack’s face. “What kind of pie is it?”

“Raspberry and chocolate.” He pulled the dough out of the freezer and started to work it until he could put it in a tin. “So you’ll stay up with me?”

“Yes, I’m doing paperwork anyways.”

“Ohh, sounds like fun.”

“Honestly, it’s the worst part of my job.”

Eric laughed. “And what is it you do, Mr. Zimmermann?”

Jack paused and said “If I tell you I’d have to kill you,” seriously. 

Eric cracked up again, and Jack let out a little huff showing that he was amused too. “Okay, so don’t tell me, but now I’m thinking you’re with the CIA or somethin’ dangerous.”

“You caught me, Bittle. I’m a forty-year-old man who was sent to assassinate the Dean of Administration. Now that you know, we have to take you out as well.” Jack’s tone was light and playful. “What about you, Bittle? Where do you work?”

“Uh,” Eric paused, wondering if he should make up a believable lie, or keep the joke running. “I work with the FBI, yup, I help them solve horrendous crimes.”

Eric spread melted chocolate on the bottom of the crust, then poured in the raspberry filling.

“Oh, really?” Jack laughed. “What kind of crimes?”

“Food crimes,” he said in all seriousness. “Like when someone fills an entire cabinet with sriracha sauce or replaces my butter with margarine.”

“It must be a tough job.”

“It is, I’m doing the Lord’s work.”

With the lattice done, Eric popped it in the oven and wandered into the living room, bringing a timer with him. Shitty, George and the other Providence agents finally came up from the basement, chatting about God knows what. 

“Hold on, Jack,” he said and covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “Are y'all headin’ out?”

George nodded. “Yes, we are. Thank you so much for the hospitality.”

“No, need to thank us, dear. I guess I’ll be seein y’all tomorrow?”

“Bye B! Sleep good!” Tater yelled on his way out. 

Eric waved good bye until the rest of the Providence agents were out the door. Shitty groaned and ran his hands up and down his face then into his hair. 

“Well that’s my cue to go upstairs and cuddle the shit out of a very fucking stressed woman.” Shitty bent over the couch and planted an exaggerated kiss in Eric’s hair. “Night, little bro.”

Shitty climbed the stairs like his arms and legs were weighed down with sandbags. It left Eric with a small smile, at least his friends were taking care of themselves. 

“Hey, sorry about that. I’m over at a friends house,” Eric said into the receiver. 

“I was wondering where you were baking so late at night,” Jack chirped. “I remember that student kitchens close at ten.”

“I know. It’s a crime and I'm trying to bring this heinous act to justice.”

Jack’s laugh was all Eric could really ask for in that moment.

* * *

 

Eric woke up with next morning and stumbled downstairs, into the kitchen. Nursey was sitting at the kitchen table, typing away and staring at his computer like it kicked him in the ribs.

“When’d you get here, hon?” Eric asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

“About an hour?” Nursey guessed, glancing up at Eric and the mug he was holding. “That’s the second pot, thought I would let you know before you start yelling about where all the coffee went.”

“Thanks, good beans are expensive.” Eric took a sip of his coffee and watched Nursey work for a little bit longer. “Do you want breakfast or something? I could make pancakes or eggs and bacon….”

“I’m chill, Bitty.” Eric gave Nursey a look that Nursey couldn’t see, but he could feel the way Eric’s eyes burned holes into his skull. “I got a call from my editor yesterday. I’m coming up on a deadline soon, and it’s stressing me out. My sister just got promoted, within the next few years she’s going to be in charge of the Manhattan Resistance base, and Poindexter doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”

“Nursey…” Eric pulled out one of the chairs and sat next to Nursey, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Dex has a lot of pride, you and I both know that. It took a month for him to let Chowder share his compsci lectures and assignments.”

“That’s not the same.”

“It’s also not his decision, nor is it your’s.”

“Ransom needs the help,” Nursey said, closing his laptop to look at Eric. “Someone is going to catch on if he keeps lugging things between here and Murray’s lab.”

Nursey was right. Having Providence’s help would mean extra funding, and maybe they would then have the cash to renovate half the basement for Ransom. It would mean an extra pair of hands when Ransom was caught up in class, and someone to check his work. 

“We can bring it up with Lardo when she comes down.” Eric left no room for more argument, but Nursey didn’t look like he was going to fight him on it anyways.

The smell of fresh coffee, pancakes, and bacon slowly lured the rest of the base’s residents downstairs. Ransom, Holster and Shitty hollered when they saw the pancakes, and immediately devoured their small stacks. Chowder talked a mile a minute about his latest visit at Farmer’s hospital, and how she was well enough to talk to him. Apparently they did water color together. Everyone was laughing and being rambunctious as always, trying to put off the serious conversation they knew they needed to have. 

Ollie and Wicky arrived as Eric was cleaning up, but they took the pie from last night and split it. Dex was the last to show up, he had bags under his eyes and was still wearing pajama pants. Eric pushed a cup of coffee into his hands and let him sit on the counter. 

They continued the light hearted chatter until someone got fed up with the act. 

“So, what’s the verdict?” Ollie asked.

The room fell silent as all their eyes turned to Lardo. She took a shaky breath and tightened her grip on her own mug. 

“I think we should help them,” She said, “just like we agreed to help Chicago. I know it may not seem like it, but the Enlightened out number us significantly. We won't make any progress, if we don’t help out our fellow Resistant members.”

There was low murmuring, but no one openly disagreed with Lardo. Dex avoided eye contact with the rest of the team by staring into his coffee.

“But I also don’t think this should be a one sided partnership.” Lardo jerked her chin over at Ollie and Wicky. “We have new blueprints for bursters and resonators, but it’s expensive and if you haven’t noticed we don’t have that kind of budget. But Providence does. Hall says that they have private investors, and maybe if we play our cards right, they would be willing to help us out.” 

“They seem like nice people, and I don’t think it’s an outrageous thing to ask,” Eric said. 

“If they spring for tech,” Wicky said, “does that mean we are going to replace all of the bursters and resonators already in place?”

“It would be a lot of more work,” Holster mused. “What would we do with them when we’re done?”

“Recycle what we can,” Ollie suggested. “Sell scrap parts.”

“At the end of the day, no matter what we do with it, we need to try and figure out what the hell is going on,” Lardo said. “George is going to be here in a few hours. Don’t fart in jars, and don’t look like a hot fucking mess.”

* * *

Providence was very accommodating. They agreed to work under Boston’s conditions and promised to be as nonintrusive as possible. By the end of the afternoon, George, Marty, Thirdy, and Tater were stuffed into a car and on their way back to their own base to start making arrangements.  

The tense atmosphere had been lifted for the mean time, and that let everyone to go back to their day jobs. 

Eric spent ten minutes laying on Lake Quad while Chowder skimmed through various book he recognized from his childhood. They sat in a comfortable silence, Eric pointedly avoiding his homework, and Chowder caring about Farmer enough to bring her books. 

He wanted someone to love him as much as Chowder loved Farmer. 

To love him enough that they wouldn’t leave if he got XM sickness…. When he got XM sickness. That was an inevitable, just like everything else in their fucked up lives. 

Eric rolled onto his side and came face to face with a pair of the worst pair of trainers he had ever seen. Who the fuck buys bright yellow trainers?

He looked up at the owner and exaggerated his eye roll. Of course the most attractive man Eric has ever met is incapable of dressing himself. 

“Hi, Jack,” he said with a laugh.

“Hey, Bittle.” He lowered himself to the ground and sat next to Eric. He stretched a hand over to Chowder. “Hi, I’m Jack.”

Chowder grinned and took Jack’s hand. “I’m Chris, but everyone calls me Chowder, which is funny because I don’t like clam chowder or any kind of chowder it feels weird in my mouth.” 

“Where was my charming introduction when we met, Mr. Zimmermann?” Eric teased. “You just stomped on over and said ‘ _ help me, I can’t do anything on my own.’ _ ”

“I didn’t say that.” 

The confused and serious look on Jack’s face sent Eric into a fit of giggles. “I’m joking with you, sweetheart.”

“You’re not very funny, Bittle,” Jack said with a smirk, shoving Eric lightly. “So, some friends of mine are going to watch the Falconers game at my place tonight, do you want to join us?"

“You just want me around to make y’all food.” Eric shoved Jack back and crossed his arms. “Besides who even said I like hockey?”

“Well the fact that you knew it was a hockey game is a give away. The other day you said ‘chirp’ and that’s a distinctly hockey phrase,” Jack said. “And I like hanging out with you, having a buffer would be nice, but I would have still invited you. Chowder you’re also welcome to come.”

“Oh! Thanks Jack! But I’m visiting my girlfriend tonight.” Chowder smiled down at his Junie B. Jones book. “Besides, I root for the Sharks. I wouldn’t dare betray them.”

“Good choice, I respect home team loyalties. To be honest, the Habs and Pens are my top two, but the Falconers have had a strong start this season.” Jack turned his attention back to Eric, grinning like he found out a dirty little secret. “So you watch hockey?”

“Ugh! Fine, Jack, you caught me. I played on a community co-ed team in high school.” Eric rolled his eyes, satisfying Jack’s childish curiosity. 

“Well, now you have to come over. Unless you’re too busy correcting the injustices against brunch.”

Jack laughed as Eric shoved him again.


	4. When You Get There

Eric stood outside of Jack’s apartment building, a little concerned that Jack might have given him the wrong address. The building itself looked too fancy for any college student to pay rent for, especially by himself. 

The elevator ride up gave Eric time to plan an excuse if he had been wrong, in case it was a 90-year-old lady that opened the door and asked him if he lost his mamma and he didn’t lose his mama-- Anyways, Eric would just apologize, turn around, and be utterly embarrassed.

He wandered down the hall until he found Jack’s apartment. Eric sucked in a deep breath. There was no need to be scared. Jack was his friend and he brought pies with him. Even if Eric became an unwanted presence, the pie at least would be eaten.

Eric’s hand was shaking as he brought it up to knock. Why was he making a big deal about this? He watched hockey games all the time at the base. Holster and Shitty forced it down their throats whenever there was a game on. If Jack’s friends were dude-bro-jocks, Eric could at least make polite conversation; Eric could totally be a bro. 

The door opened, and Eric could have swooned. Jack greeted him in a worn Falcs shirt that clung a little too tightly to Jack’s shoulders and biceps, and dark gray sweatpants that were hanging low enough that Eric swore he could see the slight V leading down, and down and...

“Hiya, Jack!” Eric said, a little bit too loudly as he tried to keep his cheeks from turning red. “I brought pie. I didn’t really know what y'all like because you never told me. But I figured ‘can’t go wrong with apple!’ Everyone likes apples. Unless you’re allergic to them, and that’s mighty sad. I once knew a kid in elementary school who--” Eric forced himself to shut up because he was bordering on oversharing and babbling.

Jack was biting back a small smile. “Hey, Bittle.” He stepped back to let Eric into his apartment and closed the door behind them both. “You can either put that in the kitchen or the coffee table. There’s beer in the fridge, but Larissa brought wine if you’re into that. And um, non-alcoholic drinks too.”

Jack lead him to the kitchen, and if Eric didn’t swoon when Jack opened the door, he definitely did now. Long, dark marble countertops, and relatively new stainless steel appliances. The oven alone sold the kitchen, but dear god how the hell did Jack  _ afford  _ this place. 

“Mr. Zimmermann why didn’t you tell me you had a Viking oven?” Eric tried to keep his voice level but he was probably close to crying--  _ It has  _ six  _ burners!!  _

“I didn’t realize I had to inform you about what kind of oven I had,” Jack chirped, hip checking Eric.

“I could have been baking here for three weeks, Jack. Instead of dinky, old Betsy.”

“Bits, brah, I thought you loved Betsy.” 

A scream caught in Eric’s throat and was close to dropping his pie on the floor. It took a whole five seconds before Eric’s heart stopped trying to break through his ribcage. His mind was racing and a chill sunk down into his bones. Fuck, fuck, fuck,  _ fuck.  _

Shitty was leaning against the door frame, a pair of red boxers doing not a lot to keep him decent, grinning like the jackass he was. 

“Don’t you look spiffy as fuck, isn’t that your ‘fuck me’ shirt, Bits?”

Eric flushed in full force. Okay, so, maybe he was a bit overdressed for what seemed like a casual thing, and this may or may not have been the button down he wore to Winter Screw last year, where his date tried to get away with a sloppy handjob in one of the bathroom stalls. 

Oven long forgotten, Eric set the pie down on the counter and aimed a playful punch at Shitty. He jumped away, laughing and pulled Eric into a hug. Shitty reeked of sweat, weed, and stale beer like always. Eric was starting to wonder if that was just his natural scent or if he went out of his way to smell like that. 

“I almost dropped that pie because of you,” Eric said pulling away. “What are you doing here and why aren’t you wearing clothes, young man?”

“Bits, a man is allowed to enjoy a good old game of hockey however he wants. It’s engraved on the Stanley Cup”

The chill was back as Eric’s stomach dropped. Shitty was Jack’s friend. He was going to have to tell Jack how they know each other. 

Jack laughed and threw his arm casually over Eric’s shoulder. “I don’t think that’s a thing, Shits”

_ Oh, thank the Lord.  _ Eric didn’t have to explain why he called him Shitty. One less topic Eric had to dance around. 

“Doesn’t fucking matter, Jacques.” Shitty walked back into the living room, yelling about how Samwell was a clothes optional campus and that should extend to the off-campus apartments.

“Sorry about him,” Jack said.

“No, it’s fine. I’m used to his theatrics.” Eric sighed and turned his attention to the apple pie. “Where do you keep the utensils?”

Jack grabbed a few plates, forks, and a knife. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Depends, are you going to card me?” Eric asked, serving out a few slices of pie onto all of the plates.

Jack laughed. “Actually, yes. I want to make sure I’m not giving any twelve-year-olds alcohol.” If Jack wasn’t cute while he laughed, Eric might have been offended. Jack was lucky that the way his eyes crinkled a bit, how his smile only showed a few teeth, and how rosy his cheeks got when he smiled hard, was all enough to let the chirp slide.  

“Excuse you, Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric gasped, mostly for comedic effect. 

“So,” Jack said seriously this time, “what do you want?”

“Wine,  _ please. _ ”

Jack and Eric joined Shitty, and also Lardo-- dear Lord, Eric couldn’t get a fucking break-- out on the couch. It was almost surreal to see Lardo or Shitty outside of work. Eric knew, logically, that they had lives outside the Resistance, just like he or Chowder did. That still didn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling in his gut, that all three of them were gonna sit there, joke and laugh like the friends they were while lying to Jack’s face about how they knew each other. 

With the Falcs out on the ice for pre-game warmups, Eric felt the anxious dread in his bones. He should have asked questions, talk about game plans, and straighten out stories. All he could do now was down his wine and hoped Drunk Eric would be able to handle this situation better than Sober Eric. 

From Lardo’s perch on Shitty’s lap, she talked about the critic she was in the other day. 

“So half the class is giving the kid like actual critiques. Like how detailed the clouds are, or how it transitions well into a night sky,” Lardo said, taking a sip from her glass. “But the rest of us are sitting there wondering where did he get the deer skull, is it clean, and why the fuck he would want to paint it.”

“Artistic expression, brah.”

“No, this genuinely made me uncomfortable.”

“Like those freshman English majors who think it’s edgy to write about decomposing bodies and the meaning of life?” Eric asked, having experience with exactly one creative expression class. He never wanted to deal with kids fresh out of high school who thought they were the next Edger Allen Poe ever again.

“Exactly!”

The low rumble of Jack’s laugh was soothing but left a tight feeling in Eric’s throat. He shifted slightly, turning more so he could be more engaged in the conversation, and bringing his knees to his chest. 

Eric and Lardo chatted away from a good half hour like that, complaining about teachers and the lines at Annie’s. Jack watched the game while Shitty yelled at refs and players who couldn’t hear him. While loud, it was comfortable and easier than Eric expected. He let go of his worries because the only one who was making it weird was Eric. Jack didn’t ask how they all knew each other already, and Eric was so thankful for it. 

Somewhere between first and second period, Jack’s arm found its way around Eric’s shoulder. It tucked Eric into Jack’s side, allowing him to lean into Jack’s warmth and smile softly. Lardo gave Eric a wolfish grin, but he rolled his eyes at her and finished off his third glass of wine. 

His cheeks warm and heart hammering a little bit too hard, Eric excused himself to the kitchen, saying something about water. Instead, he found himself in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face and running his fingers through his hair. He spent thirty minutes trying to get the cowlicks to stay down before he came over, but he didn’t care right now. 

Eric hated the way his reflection put all of his emotions on display. Flushed all over, cheeks stinging from the near constant smiling, eyebrows pinched together. What was he even doing? He was being stupid and letting impulse drive his actions. If he had just stayed out there, almost cuddling Jack and drowning his feelings in alcohol, he was going to do something to make everyone uncomfortable. 

He and Jack were friends. 

Ransom, Holster, and Shitty were the only people who could really get away with  _ snuggling  _ on the couch with each other, but that’s because of who they are. Eric wasn’t like that. He didn’t do contact like that. He can’t do that.

If he went down that rabbit hole, Eric knew he was just going to end up panicking in Jack’s bathroom. So he let the rabbit go on about its own business and untucked his shirt. He waited a few more minutes until he wasn’t looking like a tomato, and went back out into the living room.

He went with the first lie he could think of. 

“Sorry, y'all but I just got called into work. Numbers don’t add up and they want me to come in and look at it.” 

Shitty and Lardo both looked at him with a slight frown. They both knew he was bullshitting, but he could talk to them later. Jack was the one Eric needed to believe him.

“Oh, okay,” Jack said, crestfallen. Eric felt guilt bubbling in his stomach. “Do you need a ride over? It’s pretty dark out.”

Eric waved him off and tried to make his smile seem natural. “No need to do that, sweetheart, I’ll be fine.”

“Text me when you get there, Bits,” Lardo called. 

“I will.”

Eric got out of there as fast as possible.

* * *

Eric ended up in Boston, but he didn’t go straight to the base like he thought he would. Even if it was too cold for him to be walking around without a jacket, Eric needed to feel the chill in his bones. 

There was a moment when Eric seriously thought about hitting up a bar and see who he could convince to buy him a drink. But the more he thought about it the more he realized that it could end worse than Eric was willing to deal with. 

His phone was vibrating wildly in his pocket. By now, Lardo or Shitty would have alerted someone that Eric was on his way over. And when he didn’t show right away, everyone on shift tonight was flooding his inbox with texts, wondering where the hell he was and if he was okay. He knew he was making everyone worry, but right now he didn’t to get out of his head and stop being  _ Eric  _ for five minutes. Maybe more. 

So he did something he hasn’t willingly done in forever. Eric turned off his phone, knowing that he was going to get an earful later. 

Instead, he turned his attention to his scanner, something he carried with him everywhere out of habit and necessity. Just like the weeks prior, Boston was relatively quiet on the XM front. Eric knew that it was unsettling. After months of almost constant portal activity, it was like Boston suddenly became a ghost town. Either this meant that Holster’s hypothesis was dead wrong, or this was the calm before the storm. 

A part of Eric wanted a new portal to open. To give him something to do while he wandered around aimlessly. He wouldn’t be able to do much, his visor was in his dorm and he had nothing on him, but he needed the rush. He needed to feel important, useful even. 

If a Portal popped up, maybe Spades would show too. Maybe he could finally get the guy to say something instead of watching them from a distance. Maybe he could provoke him to do something other than set everyone on edge. 

Eventually, Eric found himself at the harbor. He sat on a cold metal bench and watched as young couples or teenagers out way past curfew enjoy the night. He didn’t know how long he sat there, could have been minutes, maybe even hours. His heart was still hammering in his chest, trying to warm up the rest of his body. 

Ransom was the one to find Eric. He knew that eventually, they were going to track him through his scanner, so it wasn’t too surprising when Ransom showed up with a thick blanket. 

“Bits, your lips are blue, dude.” Ransom’s laugh was fake and covering the concern in his voice. “How about we get you warmed up, yea?”

Eric shrugged. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and sighed. 

“We can hit up Micky D’s, get some hot chocolate, or coffee if you really want it. They have all day breakfast too, the McGriddles are ballin’.”

“What time is it?” He croaked out.

“Almost, 1 am, bro.”

The last thing Eric ate was that slice of pie, and that felt like forever ago. 

Eric shrugged again, and let Ransom talk him into a McDonald’s run.

* * *

Eric woke up the next morning in one of the spare bedrooms, wrapped up in the blanket that Ransom had brought with him. Although he was sweating and his skin felt like it was on fire, he still felt a chill in his core. 

He rolled onto his back and turned his phone back on. It flooded with new messages from last night, all from his friends who panicked until he came home with Ransom and food. Eric read through most of them just to get rid of the red notification bubbles. 

Ransom and Holster had sent him strings of texts, all in caps wondering where the hell Eric was. Nursey only asked once where he was, but then spammed him with twitter memes and pictures of cats around his neighborhood. Chowder even sent the Left Shark gif. 

Jack sent four texts. 

**Jack** **_(8:17pm)_ ** **:** _ Have a safe trip. Let me know if you do end up needing a ride.  _

**Jack** **_(9:53pm)_ ** **:** _ Larissa told me that you haven’t checked in yet, just wanted to make sure everything is okay. _

**Jack** **_(12:07am)_ ** **:** _ Did I freak you out? I’m sorry. _

**Jack** **_(1:21am)_ ** **:** _ Please be safe, Eric. _

With a sigh, Eric tossed his phone to the foot of the bed and rolled out. He was still in his clothes from last night, they made his skin crawl. Eric shed his clothes and searched the closet and dresser for something he could wear. He crinkled his nose when all he could find were Shitty’s boxers and a pair of sweats Nursey left forever ago.

He threw on the sweatpants and ventured downstairs. Chowder was watching the morning news with a bowl of cereal pulled close to his mouth. Eric didn’t remember seeing him last night, but shrugged it off. It was common to find random members around the base at any hour of the day.

Holster was busy shoving some eggs into his mouth when Eric scavenged for some coffee.

“How you doin, little bro?” Holster asked.

“Just peppy. No need to be worried.” Eric tried to sound bright and cheerful, but his mind was running with wild with persecutions, scarring words, and memories of a room too dark and too small. 

“You can talk to us about anything. You know that, right? Bits?” Holster called out as Eric left the kitchen with a mug of coffee and a protein bar. 

He sat out on the porch, watching the neighborhood wake up and start its day. People out for jogs, or walking their dogs. Small children, trying to get a few minutes of play time in before they head off for school. A few sprinklers go off, and a neighborhood stray cat wandered across the yard.

Eric drank his coffee and followed the rabbit down its hole.

* * *

He never ended up replying to Jack’s texts. Eric spent the rest of the weekend at the base, ignoring the concerned and pointed gazes Lardo and Shitty were throwing him. He felt bad enough about running out on them and then turning off his phone, this just felt like a guilt trip. 

There had only been one portal opened over the weekend. Holster and Nursey took care of it because Eric didn’t have anything dark enough to go out in, nor his Resistance hoodie. Delegated to help monitor XM output from the Portal. 

It felt weird being on the other side of a field mission. Feeding Holster and Nursey information they needed, and listening to their near constant chirping. It was nice to be able to hear them while they worked. It let him know that they were okay and working quickly. 

A chill ran down Eric’s spine when the line suddenly went quiet. 

“Holster? What happened? Where’d ya go?” Eric asked.

There wasn’t a response right away, and Eric’s heart lept up into his throat.

_ “Take a wild guess about who made an appearance.”  _ Nursey’s voice was hushed and on edge.

“Spades,” Lardo said.

_ “Just standing there looking like an asshole, as always,”  _ Holster sassed. 

“Remember what we talked about, guys.” Lardo started wringing her hands as she watched the map. It tracked Holster and Nursey’s scanners and monitored Portal activity. “No, confrontation. If you start throwing hands, don’t even  _ think  _ about coming back without something shiny and expensive to win me over.”

_ “Roger that, misses ma’am.” _

_ “I hate that look on his face. I can’t even see his face and I still hate it.” _

_ “He dresses like those shit heads I went to high school with.”  _

_ “Is that a fucking peacoat? Lards, please let me go at him.” _

“I dare you.”

Holster let out a nervous laugh, knowing that if he pushed the topic his ass would get handed to him.  _ “You’re the boss.” _

“Okay, y’all, clear outa there. Resonators are up and running, XM dispersion dropped by 80%. Come on home so I can shove some pie down your throats.” 

_ “My visual on Spades is gone. I think he ran off.”  _

Holster whooped on the other end and started talking again going from one tangent to another. He was going to be irritating tonight.

* * *

Sitting through Atley’s lecture that Monday was torture. Jack made the  _ wise  _ decision to sit next to Eric, throwing off half the class’s self-assigned seating arrangement. He nudged Eric’s elbow and smiled at him. Eric turned away and looked at his notes from last week.

Keeping his attention on the lecture was a lot harder than normal. Even if Jack wasn’t trying to explicitly get his attention, Eric still felt his mind wandering over to Jack. About how Eric probably hurt him by leaving so suddenly, then not responding to any of his texts. How Jack was  _ so close _ but nowhere near the point where Eric really wanted him. 

God, he hadn’t even known Jack for that long. Were they even friends? Sure, they hung out and talked, but there was always the question. A part of Eric wondered if he even knew Jack that well. 

Atley wrapped up the class, and everyone passed their essay’s over. Eric scrambled to get out as quick as possible, but as soon as he got out into the hallway, Jack grabbed his wrist. 

“Bittle, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Jack.” Eric smiled up at him, and lead them over to the wall to get out of everyone’s way. “I’m sorry I ghosted you like that, it wasn’t fair. I just got caught up in my head. It happens a lot.”

Jack’s expression softened. “It’s okay, I understand. I just got worried when Larissa said she hadn’t heard back from you.”

“I’m so sorry about that, sometimes when I’m up in there, I call it a rabbit hole because it feels like that sometimes, I just have to find a way to get out. Sometimes that means, uhm,  _ getting out. _ ”

“It’s okay, Bittle. You don’t need to explain it to me.” Jack reached his hand out again, as if he was going to reach out, but hesitated and ended up rubbing the back of his neck. “So, do you want to go get Annie’s or…” Jack trailed off, looking down, then up back at Eric.

He couldn’t say no to the hopeful look in his eyes. “Yea. I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Jack smiled and pushed off the wall. “I’m buying,” Jack called over his shoulder.

Eric grinned and chased after Jack, calling his name and fighting him on paying. 

In the end, Jack bought both of their drinks. 

Tucked into a booth, Eric let Jack recap the game for him. His eyes lit up as he went through a few of the plays. Like Snow’s save or Fitzgerald’s beautiful save that made Shitty praise the rookie to high heaven and back. 

It was nice to watch Jack talk so passionately about something. He didn't go much into his major or personal life, so listening to Jack talk about hockey like this was refreshing. His icy blue eyes became warm and his hands moved while he talked. Eric wanted to see Jack like this more often. 

A sudden question popped into his head, and he wondered why he didn't ask it on Friday, or when Jack invited him over. 

“How did you get into hockey?”

Jack froze, taking in Eric's question. His face fell into a soft half-smile and looked down at his tea. “I played until my second year of high school.”

Eric pressed his lips into a thin smile. “That's nice.” The way Jack lost his enthusiasm at the question cued Eric into letting it be. If Jack wanted to talk to him about it he would. So he let Jack put that topic behind them, and launched into a tangent of his own. “Have I told you that I used to figure skate?”

Eric was quickly realizing that the fond and soft smile that Jack gave him when he rambled was something he wanted to be framed on his wall.


	5. CIA Agent

Tater and Marty came by a month later barring gifts and empty stomachs. Tater made a beeline for the kitchen, where Eric was mixing muffin batter. He swept Eric up from behind, and it took every ounce of Eric’s willpower to not drop the bowl or scream.

“Bitty B!” Tater squeezed tighter and laughed. “Missed you!”

“You missed my baking,” Eric giggled and tried to aim a kick at Tater’s shins.

Tater set him down and allowed him to mix on solid ground. “That too. Told everyone at home about your pies. They not believe me, but believe George and Thirdy.” Tater pouted like Eric’s youngest cousins. 

“Poor you.” Eric rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have a meeting you should be in? I know you didn’t just come here to suck up to me.”

“Boooooooring,” Tater groaned. “Let me stay, B. I will be quiet, help too!”

“If Marty says it’s okay, then I would love some help round here.”

Tater almost tripped over himself trying to get to Marty fast enough. The loud groan of disappointment coming from the den was all Eric needed to know that Tater wouldn't be joining him. He laughed and started to put wrappers in the tin. 

Eric had moved to start working on dinner by the time Tater slumped back into the kitchen. His exaggerated expression made Eric pity him, so he let Tater have a blueberry muffin, and asked him to chop veggies.

Tater was more than happy to talk the entire time and gushed over his new puppy. A small beagle he has yet to name, and who has tripped over her own ears far too many times.  He smiles as he talks about the day he adopted her and the struggles of housebreaking her.

As they finish up dinner, everyone starts pouring into the kitchen. Eric sets everything on the table, but by now he knows his friends and most of them will take it into the living room to watch whatever they fought over this time. He gets a chorus of ‘thank you’s and inappropriate moaning from all the boys, and even Marty who, apparently, was not above shamelessly praising Eric.

With the two extra, very large, bodies around the Haus were shaking with the volume of everyone enjoying each other’s presence. It was warm, busy, and lively in a way that Eric missed when he was on campus, alone in his dorm missing his friends--his family. Eric smiled at his food and felt the swell in his chest as he started seeing the Haus as more than just a place for him to go and sleep when needed. It was his home. 

There was a buzz in his pocket and bit back a grin when he saw who had texted.

**Jack** **_(7:24 pm):_ ** _ I know it’s late, but when you get off work, do you want to come over? The freezer is slowly becoming empty. _

**Eric** **_(7:25 pm):_ ** _ Hmmm I don’t know, my bakes are in high demand as of late. _

**Jack** **_(7:27 pm):_ ** _ Like always? _

**Eric** **_(7:27 pm):_ ** _ Yessir, the Bittle name is well known ‘round these parts. I charge a pretty penny.  _

**Jack** **_(7:31 pm):_ ** _ I have an oven that I hear is quite excellent. _

**Eric** **_(7:31 pm):_ ** _ Sold.  _

**Eric** **_(7:32 pm):_ ** _ If I’m lucky I can get outta here at 8.  _

**Jack** **_(7:33 pm):_ ** _ I’ll preheat the oven.  _

**Eric** **_(7:34 pm):_ ** _ Mr. ZimmerMANN DO NOT. _

He chuckled and pressed his phone to his lips, enjoying Jack’s attention, even if he was using him to not starve to death. Jack wanted to see Eric. 

Eric hung out in the living room for a little bit longer, drifting in between conversations until he deemed it acceptable to try and clean up.

Taking care of the mess he made was almost as therapeutic as creating it. Putting everything back in its place and whipping away the flour and grime until the counters shinned. Mama told him once that when he started strong, he had to finish stronger. Sure she said it right before his first ever pee wee football game, and because of it, Coach made him finish the season…  _ Don’t follow the rabbit.  _

He had to finish what he started, even if it means sticking his hands in water and touching soggy bits of food. Suck it up. 

The salad and leftover baked ziti were tossed into the fridge and Eric retrieved his bag from one of the spare bedrooms. He was able to slip out without anyone making a scene or even noticing. 

* * *

Jack’s freezer, as it turned out, was not even close to empty. Eric chirped him for the poor excuse, but still scrounged around for flower, butter, and anything else he could pull together. Soon enough, Jack had over a dozen chocolate chip cookies cooling on that  _ beautiful  _ counter. 

He sipped one of the ungodly cheap beers that Shitty forced upon Jack, that reminded Eric of summers in Madison, talking to Jack about upcoming midterms. They were daunting and Eric was significantly underprepared. French was going to tank his already iffy GPA. 

Jack, knowing Eric needed the help and because he was a little shit, would slip in a few words in French. Eric groaned every time, rolling his eyes and forced the translation out. Jack beamed, and that alone was enough to tolerate it. 

They sat at opposite ends of the couch, legs stretched out so their feet met in the middle. Cutthroat Kitchen played softly in the background because Eric insisted that Jack watch at least one episode and experience the madness for himself. They laughed whenever the caught small bits of the show with no context, and it turned into Eric sharing his own kitchen horror stories.

“There’s flower and food coloring  _ everywhere,  _ Mama said her eyes popped out of her head when she found me, and I’m just smilin’ like I was in the sandbox. Overalls and our amazing butcher block counters ruined. Mama liked to tell the whole cul de saq that I was trying to make pies like she had.” Eric grinned, laughing at his three-year-old self and all of the crazy things he did. “I never saw those overalls again.”

Jack shook his head, laughing. “You probably looked terrible in them anyways.”

“You,” Eric pushed Jack’s legs off the couch with his own feet, “cannot be talking, Jack ‘I Wear Yellow Trainers’ Zimmermann. And by the way, I looked fantastic in those overalls. You’re lookin’ at the cutest baby in all’a Madison.”

“So that’s where the ego came from.” Jack put his legs back on the couch, making a point to shove his feet under Eric. He wiggled his toes, and Eric let out a small yelp. Jack just sat there, a smug grin on his face like he was an innocent child who could do no wrong. 

“Har har, you’re so funny.” Eric felt the smirk tugging on his lips. 

“Thanks, Shitty says the same thing.”

He let out an exasperated laugh, rolling his eyes. “Well, if you’re gonna stretch out like this, sweetheart, we gotta find another seating arrangement.”

They shifted around until both of them were comfortable, at least physically comfortable. Eric sat between Jack’s legs, back pressed against Jack’s chest as both of their legs were spread across the couch. Eric’s heart was jumping in his ribcage, loud, hard, and demanding his attention. He tried to rationalize this. They both wanted to relax, get comfy--Ransom and Holster sat in each other’s laps all the time this was nothing. The ease of which Jack was able to coax Eric into agreeing to this, meant that Jack was very familiar with platonic tactile attention. Probably because of Shitty.

While his heart continued to convulse in his chest, Eric’s mind was taking in everything at a painstakingly slow rate. The rise and fall of Jack’s chest as he breathed, the way his legs were just a bit too long for the couch, one hanging off the side and the other curled under Eric’s knees. The low rumble he felt whenever Jack spoke, soft and smooth, enough to put Eric to sleep. The way that they just  _ fit  _ together, and even though he knew there was no such thing as soulmates or ‘ _ the one _ ’, Eric slot into Jack’s negative space like two pieces of a puzzle. 

He knew that this wasn’t what Eric was imagining. He knew that rationally, statistically, logically, Jack wasn’t into him. Eric knew that the last thing he realistically had time for was… whatever he wanted from Jack. 

Eric tried to suppress whatever he was feeling and to come back to the present. 

Jack had changed the channel to some World War 2 movie, one of the hundred thousand that existed and were all basically the same, and made quiet, running commentary about inaccuracies and continuity errors. Eric scrolled through his twitter, listening to Jack get passionate about how  _ wrong  _ the movie was. Even though he couldn't really see Jack's face, Eric knew that he was smiling. 

The movie itself wasn’t something Eric was particularly interested in, Pawpaw used to watch enough war movies that Eric got sick of them at age nine. Jack seemed to be enjoying the movie, and Eric had his phone so he didn’t feel the need to protest it. He just leaned into Jack’s chest, soaking in his warmth and feeling the soft and steady  _ thump _ of his heartbeat. Eric browsed his social media until he was fighting to keep his eyes open, and the movie and Jack’s voice blended together into a kind of white noise Eric was willing to surround himself in. 

Jack’s hand came to rest lightly on Eric’s hip, his thumb rubbing a soft, soothing circle onto the small sliver of exposed skin. Eric could live forever like this, drowsy and exposed and secure all at the same time. He let the idea of a domestic life, an indulgence he hardly ever let himself have, dance around in his head where he was blissfully unaware of all his responsibilities. 

Eric dreamed of cobblestone roads, a warm kitchen, and an ever-present green light washing over whatever it could reach. Staining the world with fear and uncertainty, but never acknowledged. Never talked about. The once gray stone roads were painted to look like emeralds, fooling everyone into thinking that it should be admired, desired even. A kitchen, empty of everything, Christmas lights washing the room with the unsettling anticipation of expectations and failure. The color blended into their lives until no one claimed to see it until everyone denied its existence and no one could part with it. 

He was awoken by a call. By angry, muffled French, and a soft texture under his fingers. Eric was dazed and more than a little confused. Where was he? His body was sluggish and slow to sit up. God, he really hoped he wasn’t drugged. Eric didn’t really see anything, but even in the dark, the room felt familiar. 

The angry French stopped, and the room flooded with a blinding light. Jack closed the door behind him and looked at his feet.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, a frown set deep into his expression.

Eric blinked a few times piecing everything together. “Oh, uh, yea, but it’s okay. I was havin’ a bad dream anyway. I’m sorry, am I puttin’ you outa bed?”

Jack waved it off. “It’s okay, you were asleep and I didn’t want you walking home so late.”

“Coulda let me stay on the couch,” Eric smiled. “Then you would’a had a bed of your own.”

“Like I would subject you to that.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, and the small smile Eric had managed to get out of him fell away. “Listen,” he blew out a puff of air and try to make his words form, “I hate to do this, but there is something I have to take care of at work, and that would mean either leaving you here alone, or I could take you back to your dorm.”

Eric frowned and checked his phone. “Jack, sweetheart, it’s four in the mornin’.” 

“I can’t really get out of it, Bittle. So… do you want to go home, or…?”

“Don’t you worry ‘bout me. Tell ya what? When it’s an appropriate time to be awake, I’ll make pancakes, and if you’re home, you’ll get breakfast.”

Jack’s soft smile came back. “Your accent is stronger when you’re sleepy, Bittle.”

“Shush yourself. Go do whatever it is you do, Mr. Undercover CIA Agent.” Eric laid back down in bed, bringing the comforter up and around his shoulders. It smelled like Downy and Old Spice. 

Jack lingered at the door a little bit longer. “Okay, I’ll text you. Good night, Bittle.”

“Night, Jack.”

* * *

The drive to Beacon Hill was tense, no one talked, too busy with their own tasks. Eric tried to do as much research on the location as possible, Tater drove, and Chowder started syncing bursters to his computer so they would spend less time around the portal. Efficiency was starting to become something the Resistance stressed. 

Tater blocked three blocks away. Before they started making their way to the portal, they checked in with Lardo. She turned on their implants--Marty said that Tater wouldn’t need his, but even if Tater wasn’t going to talk, it made everyone breathe easier. 

They hopped over the iron gate, well aware that they would be both cornered and potentially arrested for trespassing. 

The Portal had opened up right on the wooden stoop, spouting out an ugly green light that made Eric wonder how green was supposed to invoke the feeling of happiness. It was streaked with fuchsia, blue and red, but the green was garish and overpowered the other colors. 

“So what is this place?” Chowder passed Bursters to Eric and Tater to set up and stepped back once everything was in place. 

“It’s called the Scarlett O’Hara House,” Eric said. “It’s not an actual house, just a wooden face attached to a brick wall. It apparently resembles a house in  _ Gone With the Wind _ .”

Tater hummed and started to pick at the cobblestone path. 

Eric retrieved Resonators from Chowder’s bag and started to sync them with his scanner, Tater followed suit when he noticed. He wanted to run, his skin was crawling and something unsettling and familiar settled in his gut. 

“What are our numbers looking like, C?”

Chowder’s face twisted into a small frown. “The hack is 45% in, which is good, but still slower than it has been in the past. I can’t wait for the upgrades.”

“Playing the waiting game, then.” Eric puffed out a sigh and put his hands on his hips. He watched the cloud his breath formed twist in the air. Eric was glad he brought a jacket to go with his hoodie. 

He turned his attention to Tater. 

“Boston boring you yet?”

Tater gave him a closed-lip smile, shaking his head. 

Eric wasn’t necessarily shocked by the sudden shift in Tater’s demeanor. Marty said that he took his work seriously and his accent was too much of a risk, even with the implant. It was still weird to experience first hand. It reminded him of Chowder’s intense focus while out in the field. 

“Let’s set up the Resonators, I don’t want to linger here any longer than we need to.” 

The hack went up to 67% and the eyes Eric felt on his back were unmistakable. He grabbed Tater’s jacket and pulled him over so he could whisper in his ear.

“Spades is here, don’t make a scene. He has us in a corner, and we are under orders not to confront him.” Tater nodded in response. 

Eric notified Chowder, who shot a quick look at Eric to confirm Spades’ presence. Eric gently reached up to his hood, making a second check that it was up. The cotton under his fingers didn’t make him feel better. 

He could start to feel the XM soak into his bloodstream, making it hard to focus on the task at hand. Eric mind started to wander off to dinner, and what they had in the fridge. To the painting he saw in Lardo’s room and to the single hockey poster in Jack’s room and how it felt like the least intimate and private space in that apartment. To the movie he watched in Jack’s lap and to the flour and food coloring that stained his favorite outfit and left his Mama angry and swearing about  _ Dicky what are you doing?!  _

Eric didn’t realize he curled into himself, spiraling down into a rabbit hole that was fueled by too much energy and the need to do something anything because if he sat there any longer he was going to explode. Someone was yelling, another person was talking into his ear, and frantic hands were trying to pull Eric out of his ball--but the ball was where he was safe because circles had no end, he had no end. He could see it now, hovering in the corner of his existence, this was how XM sickness would grab him by his ankles and drag him into an endless pit of green green green a kitchen paper crayons football jerseys and figure skates. 

He tried to cling to anything Eric could grasp. To the way the cobblestone felt under him and the sounds of shouting growing louder. They were so loud, Eric couldn’t really stand it, it kept him from thinking about ingredients and what would keep him out of closets that reeked of bleach. God those closets were dark. Dark and lonely and only if he had  _ listened  _ then maybe he wouldn't have been there then maybe he wouldn’t be here.

Eric woke up with a scream ripping out of his throat. He didn’t have time to wonder where he was before his body started to shake and tears streamed down his face. He choked on air as he tried to breathe, but his throat was raw and his lungs felt impossibly small. Eric curled into himself, muscle memory trying to protect him. 

There was a pair of hands on him and Eric yelled, thrashing and trying to get whoever the hell it was off of him. In a quick succession, feelings and pictures passed by the way landscape does when you drive. They were bigger than he had ever remembered anything being, heavy and oppressive and intense. 

His body began to wear down, running out of the energy needed to shake, and tear ducts running dry. Eric could start to hear whispers, around him and someone right in front of him trying to speak. He didn’t want to open his eyes, too scared of where he was going to find himself.

“Hey, buddy, little bro. Shh shh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

Eric didn’t really believe it himself, but the speaker sounded confident in his security.

“Can you hear me, Bits? Well, if you can, I need you to unfold yourself, okay bud?”

Was he ready for that? Every part of him felt tired and a sense of familiarity started to stir as the voice became more clear. 

“You’re doing amazing, Bitty. Shh shh, it’s okay, no more crying. Your name is Eric, and you’re nineteen. Is it coming back, bud? You’re in college and no one here wants to hurt you.”

How did he know what Eric was worried about?

“Guys back up give him some more space. Holtzy, get the pill bottle with Bit’s name on it. Nursey, a glass of water.”

Eric knew these names, he knew these people. 

He peaked out with one eye and saw Ransom beaming at him. 

“Hey there, kiddo.” His voice was soft and low. “Welcome back. Can you sit up for me?”

Every muscle in his body ached, and he started to take in where he was and why his arm hurt so damn much. Eric did as Ransom asked, and laid back down on the bed. 

“Okay, Eric, I’m going to take your IV out. It’s the needle in your arm right now, and if I weren’t afraid of you hurting yourself with it, I would leave it be.” Ransom motioned to the needle in his arm, and the long tube and drip bag it was attached to. How did he not notice that? “Think you can say something?”

Eric’s throat hurt but he was able to croak out, “Yeah. Are we? Haus, right?”

Ransom grinned as he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. Holster and Nursey came into the room with a pill bottle and water, Ransom had them set it down on the side table. “You’re back. Tater and Chowder got you home safe and sound.”

Eric shifted his gaze to stare at the wall instead of Ransom. There was a pinch in his arm again, then it was gone and a band-aid was put in place of the needle. Spider-man band-aid. 

“What happened to the portal?” Eric asked, finally taking in his surroundings. Lardo was in the room with Ransom, quiet and concerned. The other voices he heard must have left when the excitement died down.  

“Don’t worry about it, we’ve got it.” Ransom handed him the glass of water and shook out one pill from the bottle. “These are Chicago’s new meds. They are going to help flush out the rest of the XM in your system and build your tolerance. Remember when we talked about that?” Eric nodded. “Cool. This bottle is for you. One tablet twice a day, morning and evening. Let me know about any potential side effects.”

Eric nodded again, popped the pill and chased it with water. There was no immediate alleviation, Eric didn’t know why he expected that. 

“When did these come in?” The more water he drank, the better his throat felt and it prompted him to down the whole glass. 

“Yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you give them to me then?”

Ransom looked over to Lardo then back at Eric. “Bits, you’ve been unconscious for almost four days.”

Dread and panic sank into his bones. His knee-jerk reaction was that Ransom was fucking lying, it felt like no time had passed between between the alleyway and waking up. But the serious expressions he and Lardo wore were devoid of any type of humor or amusement. 

“You’re shitting me,” was all Eric could really bring himself to say. They didn’t break face. “W-what about school? My teachers--”

“Nursey emailed them from your account, said you were out sick,” Lardo said. Eric met her gaze, and her expression softened. “It’s good to have you back, bro.”

* * *

Lardo had Eric under “Haus arrest” for the rest of the week. Everyone tried to be subtle about their hoovering, but no one could Mother Hen like Eric, and the whole thing felt suffocating. He couldn’t even go to the grocery store! They made him write a list so someone else could go get what he needed. At least they got him clothes from his dorm. 

The first 24 hours he was awake, Eric stocked the fridge with food and bakes of all kinds. Ransom encouraged it, saying that it was good for him but Eric knew that they all missed his cooking. He spent more of his time in Lardo’s room, shooting shit with her as she painted or build sculptures. 

Whenever a portal opened, Eric stayed back, either running the mission when Lardo was gone or taking over for someone out in the field. It was a change of pace that he enjoyed, being on the other side of fieldwork was eye-opening. Re-learning everything about what his teammates did and finding a new appreciation for it. Eric still preferred being out at the portal itself. The adrenalin rush, and sense of accomplishment whenever Resonators were up and running. The only thing that came close to it was when he scored a point back when he played hockey, or when one of his old figure skating routines went  _ perfectly.  _

Despite the dangers it brought, ones that Eric had now experienced first hand, he still felt the overwhelming need to do this work. To give everyone a voice in how they wish to proceed with their life, not have it chosen for them by beings whom no one knew anything about. They say Exotic Matter frees people from their minds and allows them to enhance their experiences. Eric’s seen the videos and he remembered what happened to him. He didn’t feel free. He was trapped in his head by dark memories and the need to preoccupy himself with something so he didn’t have to think. 

And that was the scary truth. Eric wondered if Farmer went through that every day, with or without Chowder there to bring her back into the moment and distract her from the thoughts that chain her down. Eric also realized why Dex was so skittish about field work, so afraid of forever being locked away like his sister.

A lot of things started to make sense after that week.  
  


* * *

The backlog of assignments and reading was stacked practically a mile high. When he got clearance to go back on campus, Eric spent a majority of his free time in Founders. That usually means he got distracted by twitter or some nihilistic podcast that got a little bit too close to the truth for comfort. Then classes started again.

Jack froze in place when he saw Eric in class. Something lifted off of his shoulders, and Jack softened. 

“We missed you last week,” he said. 

“Sorry about that, caught the Samwell plague. I didn’t want it to spread even more.”

Jack studied him for a bit, trying to search for something, maybe a sign that Eric was lying. If Jack tried to unravel this one, everything else he lied to Jack about would come crashing down until he was buried in his own guilt and regret. 

“I hope you’re feeling better,” he said, content with the information he was given. Not digging for more, never wanting to reach for the truth Eric so desperately wanted to protect him from. 

“Better than ever.”

It was easy to fall back into their light conversations and chirping. As class started they lulled into a comforting silence. Like always, Eric’s mind wandered during class, tracking back to last week, the fear that held a death grip on his heart, how he knew that Spades was watching them without even seeing him. Jack bumped his foot into Eric’s, the sudden anxiety faded knowing Jack wasn’t going to let him slip into a panic. 

Eric used to be able to keep work and school separate, the line wasn’t blurred yet but he was afraid it would be soon. 

He smiled at Jack in thanks who nodded and went back to his notes. Eric was charmed by the small doodles lining the pages of Jack’s notebook. Dozens of hexagons with lines going in different directions and intersecting sometimes. They sure as hell weren’t pretty, but it was interesting and unique. We wondered what they were, if they had any meaning and if it was another thing that they weren’t going to talk about. 

Eric didn’t ask, too afraid of Jack locking up on him. They didn’t talk about a lot of things. Like their real jobs, or anything that wasn’t superficial. Any time either of them got too close, they pulled back and quickly found something unimportant to talk about. Eric may know what Jack’s favorite book was, but not if he had pets growing up or even a sibling. 

Atley ended the class with a reminder of midterms and reading assignments. Eric was almost certain he was never going to get that reading done. He and Jack walked around with no real direction, soaking in Samwell’s autumn. Eric had been spending less and less time on campus, he didn’t get to watch the leaves change color. 

He wondered if the others felt this way.

“Founders?” Jack asked, kicking a few of the leaves that have fallen.

“Jack, hon, I know you mean well, but I see those stacks I’m going to become a librarian's worst nightmare.”

“By talking above a whisper?”

“No, I’ll rearrange all the books.”

Lord, Jack’s hearty laugh was going to be the death of Eric.

They eventually agreed that if there were going to get any studying done, which they weren’t, Eric’s dorm was closer than Annie’s. He also hadn’t slept in his own bed in over a week, and really wanted to wear something that didn’t look like a frat boy dressed him. 

Jack looked impossibly big in his small and cramped single. It was a little weird honestly, Jack was all hard lines and dark colors, while Eric’s room was filled with bubbly curves and soft, light colors. The contrast was so stark that Eric was afraid he was hallucinating or reliving an XM induced panic attack. But he remembered climbing up the steps and it was all a little bit too crazy to be made up. 

“Take a seat, anywhere is fine.” Eric hung up both of their jackets while Jack surveyed the space before choosing the desk chair as the way to go. 

“I forgot how small these rooms are.”

“No kitchen, but it’s homey.” Eric rummaged through his dresser for a shirt. “You mind if I put this on real quick?”

If Jack blushed, Eric wasn’t going to call him out on it. “Go ahead,” Jack cleared his throat, “It’s your room.”

Eric pulled his shirt off and tossed it into the hamper, only just making it in. He could feel Jack’s eyes on his back, it was a sensation that he knew well. He didn’t know why Jack’s stare felt cold and made him tense. Eric tried hard to place it, why it made him feel like he had a target on his back, but he tried to shove it out of his mind when he came up blank. 

“How’d you get that bruise on your back?” Jack asked, his voice laced with curiosity and concern. 

“Bruise?” Eric jerked his head around to try and see. Ransom gave him a full check up and never said anything about a bruise, but there it was. Green, yellow, and ugly. At least it was almost done healing. The only thing that immediately came to mind was the portal at the O’Hara House. His memories of that night were fuzzy, he remembered more of images and fears that locked him in his head and nothing of what was happening outside of him. 

That was terrifying. 

“Gonna be honest here, hun,” Eric laughed, trying real damn hard not to make it sound manic, as he pulled on his shirt, “I have no fucking idea.”

Eric shot off a text to Ransom, informing him about his memories then yelling about the bruise and why no one thought it was important to tell him. He was going to have words with that man. 

“Okay, Mr. Zimmermann, I have to write a paragraph about a vacation I once went on.” He opened his book to the page with his homework and his notebook. “I still can’t grasp the grammar or accents.”

Jack shook his head, grinning and officially giving up any hope that he was going to get anything done. “Let’s start with the easy part. Tell me about the vacation.”

So he did. Eric told Jack about his 7th-grade spring break when instead of having Easter Dinner at home they packed the car and spent the whole week in a cabin at Lake Blue Ridge. The water was too cold for swimming--like his cast would let him swim, but Jack didn’t need to know that--but there were towns close by, and his parents made sure to keep him busy. He explored the surrounding forest, hiked to a waterfall, hell he even rode a fucking train because his parents insisted it was an experience he needed.

He didn’t tell Jack that they went there to give Eric space to recover. His Mama told him that all he needed was some fresh air and a view to help him move past small dark spaces and the smell of bleach. Eric spent hours by the lake, staring at his own reflection and hating the ugly red cast on his arm. He wondered if running away was his parents answer to everything, and why he should love this little small town when he would go home to one that was so similar and see demons in his school’s hallways. He didn’t tell Jack that every time he went down the rabbit hole, Eric was sitting on a dock wondering why Coach’s little angels looked at him like he was a ragdoll. 

Eric didn’t need to tell Jack any of that because his clipped and cracking voice told Jack everything he really needed to know. Jack wasn’t sure how to respond, and they sat quietly for a bit. Eric held Bun and Jack joined him on the bed, reaching out and petting Eric’s head. It was an odd gesture, but comforting nonetheless. 

“So,” Eric said, clearing his throat and smiling at Jack, “how do I translate that?”

Writing the paragraph took almost an hour, not including the time Eric got distracted with Twitter or talked Jack’s ear off about a recipe Mama sent him. It was still frustrating and gave him a headache but it was done. Jack proofread it and said that it was good for a 100 level class.

Eric flopped onto his back and sighed. “Break time.”

“What happened to all of that makeup work, Bittle?” Eric groaned in response. Jack closed his textbook and his eyes swept over Eric, taking everything in. Analyzing him, trying to figure out what makes him tick. Eric could see the gears turning in Jack’s head, his stare was still unsettling in a way Eric couldn’t understand. Before it froze him in place, now there was a twist in his gut and Eric hoped Jack would do something. 

Anything. 

Thank God, Jack did something.

Jack was on him in an instant, Eric shoved his books onto the floor and pulled Jack into him, cupping the sides of his face. Jack kissed him hard and hungry, placing one hand on his hip and another gently onto his neck, tilting his chin up just a little bit. Eric didn’t hesitate to let Jack in, the second Jack asked he opened his mouth and threaded his hands into Jack’s hair. He’d let Jack do anything in this moment. It was a dangerous way of thinking and was going to get him hurt two-fold.

Eric’s life was already a car fire, so he might as well let it burn to the ground. 

Jack pressed red-hot kisses into Eric’s neck, his hand slipping under Eric’s shirt and exploring his soft skin. It left Eric panting, clinging to Jack for dear life. A light tug at Jack’s hair and a soft breathy moan escaped from him. 

“Fuck, Jack,” was all he could verbalize. It was nothing compared to the thousands of words running through his head. But it was something.

Maybe this was crossing some sort of invisible line, one that Eric knew could ruin this and everything. He wrapped his legs around Jack’s waist, arching his back and rolling his hips to meet Jack’s. Eric moaned, his skin on fire and this was only beginning, while Jack groaned, his forehead cradled in the crook of Eric’s neck. The hand on his hip tightened, and he could tell Jack was on board but he needed to hear it.

“Sweetpea,” Eric whispered, carding his fingers through Jack’s hair, “talk to me. Tell me what you want, baby, I’ve got you.”

“I-” he started. Jack’s brain was trying to catch up to what was happening, what Eric was offering him. He stayed quiet for a little moment longer, still panting, and Eric was ready to stop this. To let Jack get out now before he does something he regrets. “Anything you’ll give me.”

Jack’s eyes were blown wide, a small smile tugging at his lips. Eric grinned, running a hand down to his cheek, and then his neck, stroking Jack’s jaw lightly with his thumb.

“Okay, baby, yeah. First things first, get this shirt off.” Eric started to hastily pull at the fabric, but Jack was faster. He yanked off his shirt, and shit, Eric was right about Jack being all hard lines. He knew in concept that Jack worked out but  _ Lord  _ seeing the results up front and personal was a whole nother thing. 

He tugged at the hem of Eric’s shirt, asking with a gentleness that was absent before. It made Eric’s heart swell. He shucked off his own shirt and tossed it haphazardly across the room.  

“You’re so beautiful,” Jack murmured, sucking and biting spots all over Eric’s chest, trying so hard to feel every inch of him. Eric wanted to the same, to touch and appreciate everything Jack had to offer, to make him feel like the world revolved around him in the few moments they get to have alone. “You have no idea.”

Jack rolled his hips, grinding down and hard, Eric swore he saw stars. Lord, this was too good to be true; the rapid and heavy beat of Jack’s heart just under his fingers; Jack’s mouth, so desperate to slowly undo Eric. He couldn’t remember the last time he got laid, let alone jerk off. He needed to get his pants off and he needed to do it  _ now.  _

“Jack,” Eric said between ragged breaths and messy kisses, “Jack, sweetheart, please touch me.”

“Yea?” Jack’s fingers teased with the waistband of his jeans making him squirm impatiently. “Are you sure, Bittle?”

Eric sputtered out a short laugh, almost forgetting the overwhelming need for a release. “Don’t call me ‘Bittle’ when you got me half naked and indecent as hell.” 

“Indecent?” Jack quipped, kissing Eric’s neck.

“There’s no need for formalities, sweetpea.” He stroked Jack’s cheek with his knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere, there’s no need for you to be so far.”

There was that fond look, where Jack was taking in Eric for who he was enjoying and committing the moment to memory. “Are you sure about this, Bits?”

Eric laughed and kissed Jack stupid. “Yes.”

* * *

They both knew they had classes to be in, but the sun was setting and either of them left Eric’s tiny twin bed. A lot of the time was spent sleeping, Jack was out cold as soon as Eric reassured him it was okay. It wasn’t hard to tell that Jack didn’t sleep that often. Eric was just glad that Jack felt safe enough to do so around him. 

He traced random shapes onto Jack’s back, Eric tried not to think about how this was eventually going to blow up in his face. They both had their own fair share of secrets, but who would Eric put first if it down to either Jack or the Resistance. Hell, his family or the Resistance. Eric knew that the Resistance’s cause was bigger than him. It was everyone’s future at stake. 

Eric wondered if Spades would hesitate in a moment like that.

Jack stirred, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and yawning quietly into Eric’s neck. Eric scratched near the nape of Jack’s neck where his hair was clipped shorter.

“Hey there, sweetpea,” Eric whispered. Jack pressed soft kisses up Eric’s neck and jaw until he captured his lip. It was a slow and  languid, not  going anywhere or existing for a reason except that they could.

Jack shifted both of them, pulling Eric onto his chest where he could nuzzle into Jack’s neck. He liked this, being here, being with Jack. Eric hoped he never had to make a choice. 

“My dad,” Jack cleared his throat, trying to prepare himself for whatever it was he was going to tell Eric. Eric lifted his head to make eye contact with him, letting Jack know that he had his undivided attention. “He’s in charge of a lot of things, and uh, he wants me to take over for him when he retires. It might shock you to know that I’m not actually working for the CIA.”

“Bummer, I liked the idea of taking a spy to bed.”

Jack smiled. “I’ve been working towards this for as long as I can remember, and it was something I wanted at one point, I didn’t know anything else in my life. I quit hockey for it--for him. I loved hockey, I still do, but being on the ice and watching a tv are two different things.”

“What’s stopping you from picking it up again?” Eric asked, even though he probably knew the answer. It was the same reason why phone calls, emails, and texts constantly blow up his phone.

“My work is too important. I have so little free time, it’s not enough to put into a sport, but it is enough to be with you.” Jack started to sit up, and Eric shifted along with him. “I can’t promise to give you everything you deserve, but I can damn well try.”

“Jack….”

“It’s going to suck, with both of our really crazy schedules, but I want to make this work, Bittle. I want us to work. I’ve spent so long giving up everything for my job, the last thing I want is to give you up too.” Jack twined their fingers together, and he was smiling like a fool. “In more words than I speak on average, what I’m trying to ask is if you will be my boyfriend.”

Eric’s heart stopped. His mind was telling him to run, because the last time someone said that to him was before his arm was in searing hot pain and cleaning products made his eyes water. His throat closed up on him and tears pricked his eyes because right in front of him, Jack just poured a gallon of gasoline onto the fire, and nothing was left of the car. He saw this coming the moment Jack kissed him, but it still hurt.

“Bits?”  Jack’s face immediately shifted to concern and worry, and started wiping away the few tears that had already fallen. “Bits, what happened? Don’t cry, Bits, you don’t have to answer me right away. Even if it’s a no, you don’t have to be upset about it. I won’t be mad.”

He answered with a wet laugh. “Jack, sweetheart, I just got an orgasm and a boyfriend all on the same day. I don’t think you understand how groundbreaking this is for me. I spent  _ years  _ believing I wouldn’t have anything close to this. Those assholes convinced me that I was unlovable. They locked me in a closet and I thought no one was going to find me.” Eric sobbed into Jack’s chest, balling his fists and resting them on his shoulders. “I thought I was going to die in there, Jack.”

Eric cried in Jack’s arms until his head ached and he ran out of tears. Even then, his body shook and he couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. He held his breath a few times, trying to force his body out of hyperventilation and Jack rubbed his back the entire time, whispering sweet nothings. He tried to focus on something outside himself.

When he could think again, Eric lifted his head and smiled at Jack. “I’m sorry about that, hon. Didn’t need me to get all emotional right now.”

Jack brushed Eric’s hair off his forehead and kissed him gently. “Don’t be, Bits. Remember what you said: I’m not going anywhere. Okay? Trust me.”

“Okay.”  _ I wish I could tell you everything.  _

They sat there like that for a little while longer. Jack rubbed his temples, trying to ease Eric’s headache and was mindful of touching him. He always asked before moving his hands and placing a kiss, avoiding over stimulation with a practiced ease. Eric let himself melt into Jack’s embrace and pretended that nothing else mattered.

The sun finally set on them and neither of them bothered to turn on a lamp. Comfortable in their shared warmth and light conversation. Having slept most of the day, Jack stayed up answering work emails and playing Two Dots while Eric drifted in and out of sleep.

At some point, Jack started to absent-mindedly trace shapes onto Eric’s back. It was ticklish, but not distracting enough to fully wake him. He followed the patterns Jack drew, thinking that they were just nonsense scribbles, but he started to recognize similarities. Jack was drawing the same three symbols onto Eric’s back.

“Is this the part where I try and guess what you’re spellin’?” Eric mumbled with a yawn.

“You can try, but I’m not spelling anything.”

“Don’t try pullin’ a bag over my head, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack chuckled into Eric’s hair, then kissed his forehead. “It’s something my maman taught me when I was little, nine I think. She drew these symbols, glyphs they’re called, on my hands to help calm me down from a panic attack. She said that they would protect me, and it’s become a habit I never broke.”

“That’s both adorable and tragic. Are those what you were doodling in your book?” Jack laughed and nodded in response. “So what do they mean?”

Jack drew the glyphs again, saying what each one meant as he did. “The first one is ‘safety.’ Then ‘stability/stay.’ And ‘live.’ They all have Norse and Anglo-Saxon roots, but there are people who think that the glyphs came first, and then changed over time like all languages do.”

Eric propped his head upon his hand. “It’s beautiful, did ya learn all’a that in class? Or did your mama tell you?”

“A little bit of both.”

“Wonderful pillow talk, sweetheart. Talk history to me.”

“Are you sure you want that?” Jack grinned. “I could go on for hours.”

“Oh, really? Maybe we should save it for foreplay. Ya know? Draw everything out.” Eric leaned down to whisper in Jack’s ear. “Take our time with it.”

Eric yelped and giggled as Jack tackled him and ravaged him with kisses.

 


	6. Blind Devotee

Ollie and Wicky hit the ground running as soon as they had the resources. The new Bursters and Resonators were called B2 and R2 respectively and had everyone running around swapping out tech. Eric was only ever in his dorm to get clothes and homework, he and Chowder might as well move into the Haus--Lord he was really calling it that. 

Eric was, for all intensive purposes, benched. The incident at the O’Hara house was what Maury called an Overload. As opposed to XM sickness, which was a sudden intense dose of XM in a relatively short time span, an Overload occurs over longer periods of time. Even if he was at a portal for thirty minutes at most, an hour or more in extreme cases, the constant exposure built up until his brain couldn’t handle it. To try and stop that from happening again, or anytime soon, Eric and Chowder were spending more time behind the scenes. Just great. 

His first day off in a week, Eric spent that Saturday with Jack. They had breakfast at Jerry’s, taking their time to drink coffee and have waffles. Well, Eric had waffles, Jack made snarky comments about protein and how Eric should be hitting the gym more often than he does. One more thing to add to his “When I Have Time” list. He knew he probably should go. Maybe he could convince someone to go with him.

They head back to Jack’s apartment for a bit for lazy makeouts, baking, and documentaries. Jack was all kinds of distracting, asking questions that he definitely knew the answer to, pressing up against Eric’s back and limiting Eric’s range of movement, flicking flour in Eric’s direction until both of them were throwing handfuls of flower at each other and the kitchen was covered. Eric was able to make a crust before he had to stop and give Jack the attention he wanted.

Laying next to Jack, twisted in the sheets and playing with Jack’s hair, it was moments like this that kept Eric going. The little slices of paece in a world that’s going to shit. 

God, thinking about it sometimes reminded him of how crazy it all sounded. He remembered the day Hall recruited him during his freshman year. Eric almost called Hall insane, but then he was handed a scanner, a pair of visors and he was almost sure he was going crazy when Hall showed him his first portal. Then he met the rest of the Resistance and before he knew it, Eric was spending his nights running around Boston. 

Eric did it for parents who wanted to watch their kids grow up. For people like Farmer who were suffering because of something the Enlightened claimed would help her. For the idea that humans were given free will for a purpose, and he wasn’t going to let it be stolen away from them.

He checked the time on his phone, then tapped Jack.

“Hey, sweetpea, you said you still have skates, correct?”

Jack’s eyebrows knitted together as he sat up, sheets pooling around his waist. And, oh, Eric shouldn’t have found that as attractive as he did. 

“I do. Why?”

Eric bit back a grin and climbed onto Jack’s lap. “I booked us some time at Faber if you’re up for it.”

“Bits, I told you. I don’t have the time for hockey.”

“I know! I know, I just,” Eric sucked in a breath, “I didn’t want you to give up on something you love. You don’t have to join a team, sweetie, but you can at least enjoy skating, right?” Eric carded his fingers through Jack’s hair, smiling softly, hoping that Jack would take him up on the offer. 

Jack let out a sigh but smiled back. “Okay.”

“Oh my God, Jack!” Eric threw his arms around Jack and peppered his face with kisses. “I even talked to one of the hockey team’s coaches, he gave us permission to use two of their practice sticks and a puck if we want. And if you don’t want to, that’s fine! We can just skate. I even brought my figure skates. I could show you my old routine if you’re nice.”

“If I’m nice?”

“Yes, if you’re nice.”

Jack ran his hands down Eric’s back then squeezed his ass. “Haven’t you heard? I’m Canadian, I’m required by law to be nice.”

* * *

Eric was the first one out on the ice. He felt a rush of nostalgia as soon as he stepped on the ice. The smooth glide and the chilly air against his cheeks, Eric missed this so much more than he realized. He started a few drills that he still remembered, getting himself warm before deciding that suicides were a good idea.

They weren’t.

By the time Jack finally joined him, Eric was laying on his back at center ice, wheezing and regretting everything. 

“Sorry about that, Bittle. Work called--are you okay?”

Eric gave him a silent thumbs up then brought himself to his feet. “I’m fine, give me a few more seconds and I’ll be right over.” 

Jack skated over with two practice sticks. He handed one to Eric when he was ready, then took a puck out of his pocket. They passed it back and forth, getting comfortable with a stick in their hands. 

The passing quickly became aggressive, until Eric and Jack were fighting each other for control of the puck. Without any pads, Jack steered clear of checking, which Eric was grateful for. His co-ed team in high school didn’t allow checking so he didn’t know how well he would be able to handle it. 

Jack was good, a lot better than Eric even though he hadn’t been playing for longer. He wondered what would happen if Jack never had to quit, would he eventually drop it on his own? Or would he put everything he had into it?

Eric didn’t believe in destiny or fate, but as he watched Jack glide around the rink with a wide grin on his face, he thought that this was what Jack was meant to do. Maybe in another life--if reincarnation was even a  _ thing _ \--Jack could play all the hockey he wanted. Eric wanted him to have that. 

“Got some soft hands there, Bittle,” Jack called across the rink.

Eric huffed and wheezed, hands on his knees and sweat trickled down his face. He was more out of shape than he thought. Going to the gym was starting to look like a better idea. Cardio is only going to get him so far. “Thank you, my coach used to say the same thing.”

“Fast as hell too, there were times where I could hardly touch you.” Jack skated over to him, snowing Eric just to be a jerk. “I would have liked to play with you. No, seriously Bittle, why’d you stop?”

Eric sucked in another breath and straightened up. “It wasn’t something I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Sure it would have been nice to play at Samwell, but I didn’t get a scholarship or make the team, so here I am.” 

“Their loss,” Jack said, throwing an arm around Eric’s shoulder. “Thank you for this, Bits. I… I really needed this, thank you.”

“Aww, you big sap.” Eric smiled and pulled Jack down to kiss him. “No problem, honey. I’m glad it made you happy.”

“Maybe next time I’ll do something for you, eh?”

“You already do enough for me already, so shush that.” Eric pushed off and headed for the gate. “We should get outa here, get some hot chocolate and warm us up.”

Jack smiled and followed Eric. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Eric was used to waking up in beds that didn’t belong to him. He had stayed at every one of his friend’s apartments at least once and crashed at the Haus more times than he could count. 

Yet waking up in Jack's bed, with him still asleep next to Eric, he still panicked for a half second.  Then he recognized the Downy and Old Spice scented sheets, and the bare, impersonal walls, and he remembered where he was. With Jack. Safe. 

He shifted and curled in closer to Jack, tossing his boyfriend’s arm around his waist. Eric nuzzled into Jack’s chest and tried to drift back to sleep. The only sign that Jack was somewhat conscious so early in the morning, were his fingers lightly drawing the glyphs onto Eric’s back like a prayer. 

It was a shame he didn’t get to sleep for too much longer.

The door to Jack’s room burst open, light flooding the space, and Shitty was yelling.

“JACK! Some fucked up shit happened and I need some lovin’!” He shouted during his entrance. Jack groaned and pulled Eric in as close as he could get him. “Oh, oh holy shit. BITS?”

“Shitty, If you don’t lower your voice, I’m kickin’ your ass,” Eric mumbled. 

Jack tucked his head into the crook of Eric’s neck and groaned “I’m taking his key away.”

“Holy dicks. Is this because of the ‘fuck me’ shirt? Were you wearing it again and my sweet boy Jacky-Z realized he was a thirst mother fucker?” Shitty asked as he started to climb into bed with them, Jack groaned louder. “Wow, you know what, brahs? I’m not surprised that you’re wearing clothes. Sappy mother fuckers aren’t even fucking.”

“Shitty, leave,” Jack commanded. He didn’t listen.

“This is, like, the best thing to ever happen to me, brahs. My two favorite bros in the world hooking up. A dream come true.”

“Shits. Either shut up or get out.”

“What about both? An extra five would be nice.”

“You heard the man, Shits.”

“You guys suck, I just wanted to cuddle.”

“You also yelled in my ear about my relationship with your best friend. Please leave.”

“Party poopers,” Shitty said as he left, closing the door behind him.

A few seconds passed before Jack said something. “I’m so sorry.”

Eric patted his cheek lightly. “S’okay. I’m used to it. Not the first time he’s yelled while I’m asleep.”

Jack laughed. “Doesn’t get old, eh?”

“How could it? S’like living with a five-year-old.”

Jack barked out another laugh and kissed Eric’s hair.

Five more minutes turned to fifteen, then to thirty, then into an hour of sleep. Jack had gotten up and out of bed before him, he could hear the shower running and decided he should go make something and see what Shitty was so upset about earlier. 

As he started with omelets and bacon, Shitty found him almost naturally, drawn to the smell of food and coffee brewing. 

“Shitty, if you’re goin’ ta be in the kitchen, I need you to at least put on underwear. You know the rules, hon, bacon poppin onto your genitals ain’t gonna be fun.” Shitty groaned dramatically but put his boxers back on before joining Eric again in the kitchen.

Shitty plopped down at the table and stewed in silence. When the first omelet was ready, Eric put the plate in front of Shitty, hoping that some food would get him talking. He took a few bites before it all came spilling out.

“My shitty fucking father called me last night, while I was fucking working! It was great, I was with Lardo, Tater was there and he brought his dog, I know! A great fucking day! And you know what he said to me, Bits?”

“What did he say?” Eric put a few strips of bacon onto Shitty’s plate.

“Mother fucker said that he would  _ ‘try to get past our differences.’  _ Can you fucking believe that bull shit?”

“What’s so bad about that, sweetie?”

“Bitty,” Shitty stood up and leaned onto the counter next to Bitty, and whispered, “he’s an Enlightened. And he doesn’t want to be in my life because he donated my Y chromosome, he wants an heir and I fucking refuse to go back there. It’s not like he’s a Republican and I’m a Democrat, he never gave me a choice to determine what I believed in and fucking groomed me to be a Shaper’s pet since I was born. I refuse to give him the satisfaction and I’m sure as hell not gonna go back to being a blind devotee.”

Eric pulled Shitty into a hug, petting his hair as he did. Shitty let go when he felt a little bit better.

“Thanks for that, Bits.”

“It’s no problem. I’m sorry we kicked you out like that.” 

“Don’t worry about it brah.” Shitty slapped him on the back and went back to the table to inhale the rest of his food. “So how is it I’m just now finding out about you and Jack hooking up?”

Eric smiled to himself, very much liking how that sounded. “I like to keep my work and personal life separate, thank you very much.”

“Cold, Bits. I thought we were friends.”

“Stop bugging him for deets, Shits,” Jack said. Eric finished the second omelet and put it on a plate along with some bacon. 

Shitty threw his hands up in exasperation. “Fine, don’t tell me anything!”

Jack and Shitty started bickering and Eric slipped out to get a quick shower. 

* * *

Alice’s was unsurprisingly busy, with fall in full force everyone was seeking out cozy cafes and specialty drinks. It was the kind of hustle and bustle that was comforting, people going about their own lives worrying about school and their own trivial drama, no one looked twice at Eric because to them he was the random bystander in their lives. It was an odd sort of feeling but one he liked nonetheless.

Eric was mostly there to kill time until his next class, not wanting to really do anything but relax and listen to the chatter of the customers and the old pop songs that comprised Annie’s Spotify playlist. He sipped his latte and scrolled through Twitter, sending anything he thought was funny or interesting to Nursey and Chowder.

Nursey sent him a few tweets in return.

**Nursey** **_(11:03 am):_ ** _ Sound familiar? _

> **WCVB- TV Boston (@WCVB):** Three more people admitted to Mass. General Hospital after loved ones report psychotic breaks. No news on diagnosis yet.
> 
> **WCVB- TV Boston (@WCVB):** @WCVB Patient's families report hallucinations of extraterrestrial beings and grandiose delusions. Read more dlvr.it/PdtGR2

Eric frowned. The news station was vague like they always are, but it still made him think of Farmer. The stories Chowder told him about her late at night when they were tipsy and a little bit too emotional. She was officially diagnosed with psychosis, but the doctors didn’t have the technology or knowledge to properly diagnose XM sickness. It presented like psychosis so he couldn’t blame them. Chowder was in ruins when it happened, the doctors couldn’t give him or her family a reason or the disorder and he beat himself up about not noticing the signs. 

Lardo found him and explained everything. Chowder jumped at the chance to figure out what happened to his girlfriend and how to help. 

If more people were coming down with XM sickness, that meant that the Enlightened didn’t have as much of a grasp on their Portal as they believed and couldn’t keep it contained. 

The Enlightened were slipping, or they were letting this happen. Either way, it made Eric’s gut twist. 

He should pay a visit to Farmer sometime soon.

A text from Jack pulled him out of his thoughts, but it left him just as confused.

**Jack** **_(11:23 am):_ ** _ Bits, I would like to apologize in advance for this.  _

**Eric** **_(11:23 am):_ ** _ For what? Jack? _

Before he could get a response there were two people at his table, one of which was Jack, looking very annoyed and inconvenienced. The other was blond with blue-gray-kinda-green eyes and dressed like every single frat-jock-fuck boy that Eric made an effort to stay away from. He grinned at Eric and it was terrifying. 

“Hey, Bittle,” Jack said, frowning and irritated. 

“H-Hi, Jack.” He smiled and turned his attention to the man standing next to Jack. “Hello, I’m Eric, but everyone calls me Bitty.” Eric held his hand out and the man took it.

“Name’s Kent, Kent Parson. You’re Zimm’s boy, right?” Kent asked.

“‘Zimms’?” Eric echoed. His eyes darted to Jack, who nodded even though he looked like he wanted to be literally anywhere else. “Yea, I am.”

Kent’s face lit up and he pulled out one of the chairs to take a seat. Jack reluctantly sat down too, all of it was setting Eric’s on edge, he had never seen Jack so twisted up like this. He wondered who Kent was and why he made Jack look like he was sitting on a cactus. 

“Shit you’re cuter than I expected, how the hell did Zimms catch you?” Kent prodded. 

Eric flushed and shifted uncomfortably, and kept looking at Jack for… something. Eric shrugged, “By basically doing my French homework, I guess. I wouldn’t know what to tell ya.”

“Aw really?! Lucky, no matter how much I begged I couldn’t get him to do my homework.” 

Jack crossed his arms and sank lower into his chair. 

“So how do you know Jack?” Eric asked, treading lightly. 

Kent threw an arm around Jack’s neck and pulled him in to give him a nuggie. Jack struggled against him and pushed Kent away from himself saying, “Kenny stop it. We’re in public.” Kent let go, grinning widely while Jack tried to fix his hair. 

“We go way back, like middle school. Some fugly thirteen-year-olds we were.” 

“So, do you live around here or--?”

“Oh, no. I’m only visiting for work. I live in Montreal, but I travel a lot.”

Eric nodded, not really knowing what he should say or if Jack was even okay with this whole interaction. 

“I was gonna come down anyways, but when I heard Zimms was getting some--”

“Kent,” Jack warned. 

“I had to come see who brought his robot to life.” Kent’s smile was wide, bore his teeth and was anything but friendly. 

“I wouldn’t call Jack a robot. Hyper-focused and dedicated maybe,” Eric said, reaching his hand out for Jack’s but then thought better and pulled back.

“You should see him at work sometime, the guy seriously turns into a robot it’s freaky.” Kent pulled out his own phone and fiddled around with it until he handed it over to Eric. “This is my cat. She’s the best thing to ever happen to me. Swoops calls her the devil but she doesn’t like him. Oh, her name is Kit and if you have Instagram you should follow her.”

The change in topic was so sudden it almost gave Eric whiplash. “She’s cute.” Eric pursed his lips, not really knowing what he should be doing. The whole situation was painfully awkward and Eric felt like his presence was what was setting Jack off. Like if it was just Kent, Jack would know how to react and what to say but was now holding back because he didn’t know how Eric would react. “So, you work with Jack?”

Jack tensed in his chair and Eric immediately knew he made a mistake in asking.

“Yup,” Kent said, making sure to pop the ‘p’. “Well, used to? Zimms got transferred so here he is, juggling a history degree and work. How do you feel about that? A history degree I mean.”

“I-I’m really in so such place to judge someone for their major. I’m still undecided. I was thinking business for a bit, then sports medicine, American History also seemed fun? Mostly because it had a Food Culture concentration.” Eric fiddled with his cup anxiously. “But I think that if Jack is happy with what he’s studying, then he doesn’t have to justify his degree. From what I've heard, he is mostly here to learn because he wants to, not because he will be looking for a job after this. I mean, what’s wrong with wanting to know more about something you like?”

Jack loosened up a bit, the corners of his lips tipping up and stress lines smoothing out. Kent, on the other hand, seemed to drop, frowning and crossing his arms.

“Kenny,” Jack said, clearing his throat, “isn’t Jeff expecting you at the office?”

Kent looked at Jack, communicating with each other through a series of frowns, furrows, and unspoken words. Kent eventually sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yea, I guess.” Kent stood, took off his snapback to fix his hair then put it back on, and grinned again. “It was nice to meet you, Bitty. Can’t wait to see you again.” Kent winked, waved, and walked out of Alice’s.

Jack let out a loud sigh, and relaxed. He looked over at Eric sympathetically. “I’m sorry about him.”

Eric smiled softly and placed a hand on Jack’s cheek. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Kent seemed like he had… good intentions?”

Jack chuckled and turned his head to kiss the palm of Eric’s hand. “He never gets easier to deal with.”

“We all have friends like that, Jack. Can I ask though?” Eric chuckled lightly, still reeling from his interaction with Kent, “What the fuck was that? I felt like I was thrown into a lion's den.”

Jack laughed too, shaking his head. “Kenny’s a piece of work. He just feels threatened and wants to get under your skin. Once his ego dies down a bit he’s not too bad.

“Then why did you look like you were going to go to jail for murder.”

“Because he’s still an asshole.” 

Eric bit back his own laughter by taking a sip of his latte. “You know, I don’t think you’re a robot, sweetie.”

Jack kissed his temple. “Thank you.”

“So, how long is he in town for?” Eric asked, absentmindedly played with Jack’s hand and fingers.

“Until further orders,” Jack grumbled. “He’s partly here to annoy me, and because I said I didn’t want him here.”

“Spite’s a pretty powerful motivation, Jack.” Eric took another look at Jack’s face and threaded their fingers together. “Let’s get out of here. It’s getting a little stuffy.”

* * *

_ “Remind me again why I’m doing this rookie bullshit?” _

“Something about limiting my field activity.”

_ “Bits, you haven’t been near a portal in two weeks I’m calling bullshit and favoritism.” _

“I’m offended by that accusation, Mr. Knight.”

_ “Fucking liar.”  _

_ “Shits just suck it up already.”  _ Ransom sighed.  _ “You could at least do the work you’re bitching about.”  _

_ “I thought we had each other’s backs, brah.” _

_ “Not when I'm the only breaking a sweat.”  _

“You’re just swapping out Resonators, Shitty. Get off that high horse of yours,” Lardo said, sinking into her chair. 

_ “We’re all good here,”  _ Ransom said.  _ “All of the Resonators that have been retrieved seem to be in a good condition but one. Its crystal has a small crack, nothing big enough to cause problems but still visible.” _

“Head on back boys. Ollie and Wicky are going to repurpose those Resonators. Ransom, dispose of the broken crystal, we don’t want to risk any malfunctions. R2s work at twice the capacity that a regular Resonator does, that crystal will only cause problems.” Lardo kicked her legs up onto another chair. 

_ “Roger that. Hey! Shitty, let’s see how far I can throw this thing?” _

_ “Ten points if you break a window.” _

“Twenty if you also take out a light,” Lardo said.

“Y’all…” Eric groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

There was the sound of shattering glass and a yell coming from Ransom and Shitty’s line. It was far away and hard to tell who it was, but it startled the boys.

_ “Shit man! Sorry bout that!”  _ Shitty called.

“Fucking idiots,” Lardo mumbled. 

_ “Shits,”  _ Ransom breathed.  _ “Shits we need to leave now.” _

_ “Don’t need to tell me twice.”  _

The line suddenly cut out, and Lardo swore. Eric’s heart dropped and both of them got to their feet, and they both turned their attention to the map. The blinking lights that indicated Shitty and Ransom’s scanners were moving quickly across the screen, down alleyways with haste. Like they were running from something. 

“What the fuck happened?” Lardo yelled, kicking her chair so hard it fell over.

Chowder and Dex ran into the room to see what the commotion was. Lardo yanked off her earpiece and left the room swearing, stomping up their stairs probably to go calm down in the reading room. Dex took Lardo’s place, and Eric explained as much as he could of the situation.

Shitty and Ransom were heading home though, so all he could do was stew in his own cocktail of panic and fear.

By the time Shitty had kicked open the front door, Eric made a cherry pie and was trying his hand at croissants, hoping that the involved process would take his mind off of his dumb ass friends. 

Ransom almost immediately climbed under the table, while Shitty made a beeline for the stairs. Eric shoved the dough into the fridge and tried to coax Ransom out, he could hear Shitty and Lardo yelling at each other upstairs, neither of them calm enough to be having a work-related conversation. 

Eric didn’t notice Holster until he was under the table with Ransom, petting his hair and listening to his friend mumble about Lord knows what. When he realized that Ransom was in good hands, Eric sought out Shitty and keep him from exploding. 

“He was chasing us, Lards! The fuck did you expect from us?”

“To not turn off your goddamn comms! It’s protocol, Shitty! You don’t get to leave us in the dark like that!”

“But you weren’t!”

“Mr. Knight!” Eric bellowed. Shitty snapped his mouth closed and started to peel his clothes off. Lardo huffed, and climbed through the window, making sure to bring her pipe with her. “What happened?” Eric asked, softening his voice.

Shitty threw himself onto the beanbag chair and sighed dramatically. “Remember how we though the Enlightened here in Boston were docile?”

“Yes.”

“Well fuck that theory right up the fucking ass. I don’t know who this guy fucking thinks he is, but the fucker was a goon, Bits. We straight up thought he was a civ up until he was practically in our faces, fucking nothing like Spades. Fat loada shit that whole ‘no confrontation’ rule will be when he starts picking fights.”

Eric pulled out the desk chair and lowered himself into it. “There’s a new Enlightened agent in Boston?”

“Fucker seems itching for a beating if you ask me. He followed Rans and I for six blocks until we lost him.”

“Six blocks,” Eric echoed. Spades never even tried to make contact with them, he always seemed like there was somewhere else he would rather be. But if there was a new Enlightened agent, one that was willing to chase after Shitty and Ransom, this was going to be a whole mess that no one was equipped to handle. They had been so accustomed to Spades, they never expected this. “We’re fucked aren’t we?”

“Royally.”


	7. Separate and Simultaneously

Eric had visited Farmer a handful of time since he had met Chowder. First to see who it was that Chowder was head over heels for, then because he genuinely liked her. She was a smart girl, who had been studying marine biology, and was still trying despite spending a good majority of her time in a hospital, and played volleyball whenever she got the green light for it. 

Every time he saw her, Farmer’s room was covered in different pieces of art she had done for therapy. Collages, watercolor, coloring book pages, sketches, anything the doctors would let her use. It was nice to know she was doing something she enjoyed while being swallowed by linoleum tiles and fluorescent lights. On bad days, it was all she could focus on. Farmer’s bad days weren’t very frequent and were far between. 

Farmer was reading a textbook when Chowder and Eric stopped by. She greeted them with hugs and a kiss for Chowder, then, at her boyfriend’s prompting, explained what she was reading and the assignment she had due in a few days. 

They took a walk through the rooftop garden, Farmer had probably been up there every day, but she still looked at the flowers and plants with a youthful enthusiasm. She and Eric talked about the various herbs the hospital was growing and their favorite applications of them. Lemon basil in Thai curry was one of her favorites, and Eric silently agreed. 

She eventually sat in front of a bushel of marigolds, with a sketch pad and pencil. Chowder watch on with fondness and love as Farmer was happy off in her own headspace, compulsively creating art because it was no longer a desire, but a need. She talked happily as she did like she wasn’t trapped by her illness.  

“Mom wants me to come home,” Farmer said suddenly. 

Chowder sputtered “But why? You’re fine here, you have friends and you’re doing well in school. And you’re happy right? This place has been really good, helpful even? Going home will just disrupt that.”

“I told her the same thing, and…” Farmer sucked in a breath, “I’m scared of what will happen if I leave.” 

“Cait….” 

“Something is just telling me that I have to stay here. I don’t know what, but I’m afraid of going against it.”

Eric and Chowder shared a concerned glance. “I’d miss you, Cait.”

Farmer looked back at Chowder and smiled with tears in her eyes, “I’d miss you too, Chris.”

Chowder moved to sit next to Farmer, throwing an arm over her shoulders and kissing her temple dozens of times until they’re both giggling and forgotten their earlier conversation. 

He looked down at Farmer’s sketch pad, confused and curious. “What is that?”

Farmer followed Chowder’s gaze and looked surprised herself. “I’m not sure, but I draw them a lot. I didn’t even mean to this time, I guess I just zoned out.”

Eric squatted beside Farmer to see what they were talking about. His eyes widened in recognition and his blood ran hot. Hexagons of all sizes littered the page, on the inside of them were lines--symbols all different, like there was no specific meaning behind what it was supposed to be representing. With repeated sketching into his skin and dotted all over papers, Eric could recognize glyphs anywhere now. 

“When did you start drawing these?” He asked.

Farmer paused, searching for an answer. “When I was first admitted, I think.”

“Where did you learn about them?”

“Bitty?” Chowder asked.

“I didn’t really learn about them,” Farmer said. “I just woke up, and started scribbling them, like I had always known.”

Eric swallowed thickly. “Can I borrow this page?”  
  


* * *

He went back and forth about talking to Jack about the glyphs. On one hand, Eric wanted to know more about them, what they mean, why Farmer knows about them suddenly after getting XM sickness. He wanted to know if it was something Farmer saw in passing when she was young, and her mind was just now bringing it to the forefront, or if it was XM related, and why the hell Jack knew about them too. 

Eric also knew that confronting Jack about the glyphs would lead to vague explanations. Jack would try to shut it down because that’s what he did when Eric wanted to know something a little too personal. Or maybe Jack would have a perfectly reasonable explanation, that the glyphs were just a language used by a long-dead tribe. That they could be found in museums and Eric was being paranoid. Eric knew that if he asked, the foundation of lies he built his relationship on would quickly fall away when Jack would want answers in return. 

In the end, Eric didn’t confront Jack. He tried to push it out of his mind because it was a  _ coincidence _ , and Eric shouldn’t have been thinking too much about it. There wasn’t any evidence and nothing good came out of pointing fingers. So he folded the sketch Farmer let him have, and shoved it under his bed, hoping that he was right.

* * *

Kent Parson does, as Jack said he would, dial it down after a few days. He let up on the glares and borderline invasive questions, in favor of cheeky smirks and merciless chirping. And as Kent’s interrogation tones down, Jack relaxed too, grinning and wrestling Kent like they were in high school.

Shitty was the only other person who made Jack open up like that, looking carefree and happy as all of his stress lines dissolved from his face. Eric didn’t know if he should have been jealous about it or not. 

But Eric was the one who Jack kissed, so he wasn’t all that envious. 

A Penguins game was on, Jack and Kent were going back and forth about plays even going off into tangents about other teams, while Eric was busy in the kitchen making apple turnovers. He was happy to listen to the boys argue as he danced around the kitchen. Jack’s kitchen. It was slowly turning into a place that felt lived in, recipes printed out and hung on the fridge, rabbit salt and pepper shakers that Jack bought on a whim but were still cozy and adorable, oven mitts and dish towels in autumn colors that made the stainless steel feel less sterile than it used to. 

When he thought about it, three months was a short time to carve out a little slice of home, but Jack didn’t stop it from happening. He let Eric in as soon as Eric knocked and never hesitated.

It was happening fast, but Eric had read enough romance novels to know that the warmth in his chest wasn’t something to take lightly. God, he wanted this to be serious. He wanted this to be something he could keep close, even if he was hiding so much from Jack, almost half of who he was. 

Jack snaked his arms around Eric’s middle and rested his chin on his shoulder. “You’re welcome to join us in the living room.”

“Thank you, but I’m perfectly fine here,” Eric replied. 

Jack captured his lips, pulling him in for a long, sweet kiss. Eric stayed mindful of his hands, covered in flour and sugar, and sucked Jack’s bottom lip into his mouth. Jack groaned and licked his way into Eric’s mouth with a hunger that was absent before. 

“It’s not fair that you two get to practically face fuck each other and I can’t even see my fiance,” Kent whined from the living room.

They both laughed. “I said you could invite Jeff, as long as you didn’t fuck on my couch,” Jack deadpanned.

“And I wonder why he isn’t here,” Kent pondered, sarcasm dripping so thick it made Eric grin. 

“That couch has seen too many dicks for its own good, sorry for wanting to spare it two more.” Jack ducked his head, breath ghosting against Eric’s ear. “You look really good in these jeans, Bits.”

“You charmer,” Eric hummed. “Maybe if you can kick him out, you can tell me what else looks good.”

Jack snapped his head up and talked comically loud. “Wow, Kenny would you look at the time? Pretty late isn’t it? You should go see Jeff before it gets too dark.”

* * *

“Do you ever just think about how fucking stoned we sound sometimes?” Holster asked, laying on the kitchen floor because he is an actual child.

“Constantly,” Eric replied instantly.

“Like aliens, alone is a wild fucking thing, but like? From another dimension? Leaking radiation type shit into our planet for fuck knows what’s purpose,” Holster lamented.  “I honestly thought I was tripping balls when I was recruited, maybe OD’ed on my pain meds. Woke up the next morning, not dead or covered in vomit, and all I could think of was  _ hot fuck?!  _ Ya know?” He turned to Eric for confirmation that he knew the feeling or to see if Eric was actually listening. 

“I thought Hall was insane,” Eric admitted, “then I thought I was going insane. After that, I seriously thought someone slipped me acid or molly.”

Holster barked out laughing, “fucking amazing, Bits.” His laughter died down and Holster fell quiet. Eric thought he was done with the conversation, and turned back to the hot chocolate he was making for everyone. “I want to talk to Shapers,” Holster said suddenly, so quiet that Eric almost didn’t hear him.

Eric pursed his lips but still nodded. “Me too.”

Holster rolled onto his stomach, pressing his cheek onto the gross, probably sticky floor. Eric was about to yell at him to sit up properly, but Holster spoke first. “Like kids dream of this shit. Can you imagine the tech they must have, Bitty? They can open _ rifts between dimensions  _ and that would require technology centuries ahead of ours. And that might just be  _ simple  _ for all we know! I mean, we can assume they have done this before, so whatever machine they use must either be old enough or basic enough for them to  _ keep using it. _ ” 

“You think about this a lot don’t you?” Eric asked, keeping an eye on Holster.

“Only when I’m so stoned that I can feel my bones and muscles separately and simultaneously.”

“Do you want a snack?” Eric asked simply.

“Bits, I’ve been waiting for you to ask that ever since I came in here.”

* * *

Thanksgiving comes and goes, leaving students in a hectic frenzy to cram as much information into their heads as possible before finals roll around. It meant Eric ran on three cups of coffee before ten in the morning and very little sleep.

It also meant that Spades and his new “friend” (a.k.a Ace because Holster insisted on keeping up with the suit of cards theme for code names) were kicking things into gear. Ace started to take down their insanely expensive R2s, while Spades just continued to monitor and make everyone’s skin crawl. They hardly ever showed up together, so that lead Eric to believe that they were working independently from each other. 

Eric’s mom was begging him to come home for winter break, and as much as Eric wanted to see his family, he couldn’t leave Boston. He was needed at work and dear god he needed to take classes over winter break. 

At night, the Granary Burying Grounds were Eric’s least favorite portal location. He always felt like he shouldn’t be there, even during visiting hours. Graveyards were never a place that felt welcoming, he was trespassing and walking over people with their own lives and experiences that Eric could never compare to. 

But he still had a job to do, location be damned. 

The wind drove the chill deep into Eric’s bones, freezing the knot in his stomach. Ancient dead people and below freezing wind were not his favorite combination. The snow crunching under his boots and the orange street lamp lights were adding another level of fucking weird that nothing about the situation felt real.

Nursey was in the car, keeping it running because Eric was  _ not  _ going to wait for the car to warm up.

Eric slowly followed the direction his scanner was pointing him in, tentative in all of his steps. He was looking to the dim light from the portal through the old tombstones and trees. His feet sunk into the snow just a little with each step, still trying to be mindful of the people who rest there. 

The portal was located near one of the bigger oak trees in the cemetery. The broken Resonators were shattered as if someone put a bullet through them. No wonder they lost signal so abruptly.

Some parts could be salvaged, but certainly not the crystals. They were a lost cause.

First things first, Eric set up two B2s to make the Portal susceptible to the R2s. It was less time waiting around, but still meant a few minutes of downtime which was always fun. Eric did what he could to keep his hands warm, rubbing them together, puffing hot air onto them, the works. Still, the breeze whipped through his jacket and made him regret going to school in Massachusetts.

He made quick work of the R2s, shivering and a tad bit bitter. Eric quietly made his way back towards Nursey and the car, carefully stepping in his boot prints. The old, degrading gravemarkers caught his attention every once and awhile. He could take his time to linger around them for a bit, now that he wasn’t in much of a rush. Lingering by men who died centuries ago, ones that are read about in history textbooks, and ones that are conveniently forgotten. 

There was the sound of footfalls not too far from where he stood, Eric tensed every muscle in his body, waiting to hear if the steps were coming towards him. He half expected it to be some kind of security, ready to tell him off for trespassing, but with the way his stomach felt like a knife was slowly twisting around, he knew it was much more serious. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

“How can I help ya?” Eric asked and he turned to face the person approaching him. 

“Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t see this coming,” Kent said, pulling his hands out of his pockets. Eric tried so desperately in that moment to convince himself that he was hallucinating Kent, the dapper clothes he was wearing, and the iconic, green symbol embroidered onto his jacket. 

His entire mind was telling him to run away, to just get out of there. To call Nursey and the Haus and warn Jack that his friend--

Kent was here for business. Jack and Kent worked together.

Jack and Kent were both Enlightened members. 

Eric felt so stupid, he should have fucking picked up the signs he should have seen it all coming from a mile away. How could he be so fucking stupid? Eric felt like screaming his lungs off, even though he knew that nothing would come of it. 

“Jack’s gonna be devastated,” Kent sighed.

“So are you just going to stand there and make me feel guilty, or are you going to surrender?” Eric asked, faking every bit of confidence he projected.

Kent laughed and pretended to wipe tears from his eye. “That’s not how this works, Bits.” 

As if waiting for a cue, three more Enlightened agents surround Eric, appearing almost out of nowhere. Eric had spent almost an hour in this place and he hadn’t even noticed them. How the hell--?

“You have two options,” Kent said. “I assume you know what they are.”

He was trapped, and there was no way he would be able to take on Kent, let alone three more guys who were much, much bigger than him. Like hell he was going to let them just take him. Eric was tired of letting others get their way, of being pushed around and walked over. He wasn’t going to be a scared middle schooler ever again. 

Eric made a break for it, running as fast as he could between two of the guys. One of their hands just barely grazing his jacket, and Eric flung himself over the gate. He ran through the middle of the street and over into the closest alley, trying to lose the men he knew where close behind. 

On the next street over, he was able to get ahold of the Haus. 

“Help me,” Eric yelled, trying to keep his breathing as even as possible. 

_ “Bits? What’s going on? Your signal was jammed from your side,”  _ Lardo answered.

“Enlightened, I’m being chased. They know who I am Lardo.”

A variety of voices swore over the line. 

“Please get hel--” 

A hand and rag reached out and was clasped over Eric’s mouth and nose. Hyperventilation and instinct told him to keep breathing, but Eric had seen enough movies to know what was happening. The chemical was sickeningly sweet, but within seconds that didn’t matter. His mind was beginning to fuzz over, his muscles laxed, and he was fighting a losing battle with his eyelids to stay open. 

When Eric’s body was no longer responding to his incoherent commands to move and run away, two large arms wrapped around to catch him as he started to fall. 

The last thing he could remember was how familiar the hold around him was, and how warm it seemed to be.


	8. Make Me Proud

As he drove back to Headquarters, Jack wondered what the fuck he did in a past life to screw him over this badly. He glanced over to Bit-- Eric in the passenger seat, unconscious and handcuffed. Guilt chewed away at his gut with the soft rise and fall of Eric’s chest, it’s fucked. 

Jack’s mind was racing with questions he wanted to ask. He was confused and upset and angry with himself for not paying close enough attention. Jack knew Eric was keeping secrets from him, fuck Jack was doing the same damn thing, but never would he have pegged Eric as a Resistance member. 

Jack dug himself into a hole he had no idea how to get out of. 

> _ There was a reason why Jack worked alone. Partners always fucked everything up. He was proven this time and time again. As he watched Kent ruin all of his hard work right before his very eyes, Jack wondered why he was still following like a loyal and complacent dog. _
> 
> _ Jack never truly understood what the Resistance stood for. They were a group of kids who banned together out of fear. They spread lies and propaganda about slavery and mind control and it was all wrong. At least, he was always told they were wrong. _
> 
> _ “Make me proud,” Bob always said. “You’re going to do great things for this planet, Jack.”  _
> 
> _ There was a time when he genuinely believed everything papa told him. He was young and thought papa hung the stars in the sky. He thought that one day, he was going to help change the world. He believed that the Shapers meant well. _
> 
> _ He was eighteen when he started to wonder if he was doing the right thing.  _

Jack watched through a two-way mirror as Kent interrogated Eric. Jeff wanted to be able to hear Eric’s answers, but Jack refused to turn the monitor on. He knew that if he heard Eric’s voice he would stop the interrogation completely. But they wanted the information out of him, and Jack wasn’t going to disobey orders. 

Eric never seemed to give Kent an answer that he wanted. Jack knew Kent would go to great lengths for an answer, so the look of defiance and anger on Eric’s face made Jack fear for Eric’s life. 

“Kid’s gotta break at some point,” Jeff said.

He briefly thought of last week. Of Eric dead tired in his bed. They hadn’t talked much, and at that point, Jack should have made the connection. But denial and the need for normalcy let him turn a blind eye to Eric’s vanishing acts. 

Kent got up from his chair and exited the interrogation room, making sure to lock the door behind him. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t started the scare tactics, Parse.” Jeff was joking, but it still made Jack uneasy.

“Once sleep deprivation finally kicks in, he’s be spilling his guts like no one’s business.” Kent crossed his arms, looking at Eric through the glass. 

A knot twisted in Jack’s gut. It was all his fault, and he knew that Eric wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for him. Jack was the one who made him run all over Boston. Jack was the reason why Eric hardly texted and was always tired. All because he had to prove a point to his father and to the Resistance. 

They were taking advantage of Jack’s passive behavior, and Jack reacted childishly. 

“You really fucked up there, Zimms.”

“I don’t need to hear it from you, Parse.”

Jack left the room after that, wandering the Headquarters halls until his feet ached and all he wanted to do was forget that today ever happened. His first thought was to go home, get some sleep, and deal with all of this in the morning. But the idea of sleeping while Eric was at Kent’s mercy made him want to scream. 

If Kent told anyone about Jack’s relationship with Eric, Jack’s life was going to be a living hell. He would never hear the end of it from Bob or anyone else. Jack wondered if Kent had the decency to keep the entire situation quiet. He knew that Jeff wasn’t going to say anything unless told otherwise, but Kent was a loose cannon.

Guilt swallowed Jack whole. He didn’t want this to happen to Eric. He knew that any chance at a relationship with Eric after this was nonexistent. And even if there was, Jack would never be able to look Eric in the eye again. He didn’t want Eric to hate him but after this? Well, Jack already knew that Eric no longer trusted him.

> _ The kid had a cocky grin that made Jack furious. He was just a rookie, someone who was dropped into this world with no idea about what’s actually happening, and his performance was already better than Jack’s. The second a scanner was put in that kid’s hands, he became the star agent. It didn’t matter that Jack had been working his whole life to get to where he is.  _
> 
> _ “Try to get along with him, Jack” Bob had said because he had the faction’s best interests in mind at all times. “It will be good for you to have a friend your age.” _
> 
> _ Sometimes the line between parent and boss was so blurred that Jack was never sure which part of his papa that he was talking to at any given time. Upon reflection, this was where Jack stopped fighting his papa. The uncertainty of which role would take offense when Jack pushed back put out his fire to fight.  _
> 
> _ Jack was thirteen when he first met Kent Parson.  _

Jack never thought he would be in this situation. He never thought that he would be sitting in an interrogation room with Eric. But there they were. Jack knew this was repercussions for his own carelessness. 

That’s what Kent was sent to Boston for anyways. 

“Bittle, the Resistance doesn’t know what they’re talking about.” They were lines fed to Jack since the Resistance started to take root. “XM isn’t going to hurt you, it expands the mind.” Jack could feel the weight of the lie on his tongue. He hoped Eric didn’t pick up on it. 

“Why do you lie to yourself like this, Jack?” Eric asked suddenly.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Jack said, trying to save face.

“You don’t want to do this, do you?” Eric leaned forward a bit, trying to intimidate Jack. Whether it was working or not, Jack would never admit out loud. “If this was something that mattered to you, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Eric--”

“What do you want to do with your life, Jack?”

He sat there, staring at Eric, absolutely bewildered by the question. Who would even ask that? Especially in the situation he was currently in, subject to whatever Kent decided would get him talking. 

Jack wanted to take over for his father as the Montreal/Quebec representative. He wanted to graduate. Jack wanted to see a hockey game live, he wanted to be able to put skates on again. Jack wanted to do something that made him feel significant. He wanted to feel purpose in his work.  

“I’m not sure, Bits.” Jack hoped that the nickname would be enough to soften Eric’s expression.

It wasn’t. 

“The sooner you figure that out, the sooner I figure out if I should trust anything you say.”

That was one way to twist the knife. 

> _ Jack wasn’t supposed to be awake, but as big as his house was there was no such thing as a private conversation. He could hear his papa’s voice through the vent in his room, speaking a little too loudly. Curiosity got the better of Jack and wandered outside of his bedroom with his stuffed dog to help buffer the world.  _
> 
> _ Papa was in his office and Jack knew he wasn’t supposed to be in there, ever, but he pushed the door open anyways. Papa didn’t yell at Jack, just hung up the phone and beckoned Jack over. Jack was hesitant at first, the thing that’s on Papa’s desk was glowing and he wasn’t sure why it scared him, but he crawled into Papa’s lap anyway.  _
> 
> _ “Did I wake you?” Papa asked. Jack nodded and absentmindedly chewed on the stuffed dog’s ear. “Well now that’s you’re awake, do you want to help me with this?” _
> 
> _ Jack looked at the object weary, and even though it scared him, it made him feel warm and fuzzy. It made his fingers twitch like when his teacher sits him down at a table of his own with crayons because the other kids were overwhelming and made him want to cry. It was a complicated mix of feelings, but Jack trusted Papa. _
> 
> _ “Okay.” _
> 
> _ Jack was five when he learned the world wasn’t what he perceived it to be.  _

Each and every scream felt like it was slowly peeling Jack skin off of him. He stopped being able to watch hours ago when Kent was on the verge of breaking his fist and Eric still wasn’t talking. When the groaning turned to blood-curdling screaming, Jack thought he was going to kill Kent.

He kept his back to the glass, refusing to watch the overwhelming pain Eric was experiencing. 

Jack was thinking himself in circles. He could just stand there and let Kent do this, he couldn’t let Eric continue to suffer. Jack didn’t think Eric did anything inherently wrong, sure he was working against everything Jack had ever known, but that was because it was something Eric genuinely believed in. Enough so to refuse to sell his friends out to get Kent to stop. 

He could help Eric, let him go and take whatever punishment the higher-ups decide on. Jack could resign himself to a life without Eric, where the best thing that had happened to him in years would be forever out of grasp. 

Fuck, Jack could just leave. Runaway and never fucking look back. But what would his father say? What would Kent do? Because, no matter where Jack hid, Kent was always able to find him. Jack wouldn’t be able to hide forever. 

The worst option was to just let this continue. Separate his emotions from his work--like he should have already been doing--and see how long Eric’s stamina and force of will lasted before it was too much. Eric would become a broken mess, but he would be treated by the best doctors and given spacious accommodations. 

Until they started exposing him to higher and higher doses of XM to see the eventual results. And everything would start again.

Eric let out another long, weak, and sobbing scream. 

This wasn’t just about Eric, it was about Jack too. He let Eric get close, trusted him, Jack was so close to considering telling everything to Eric. He was hoping that maybe Eric would be someone he could come home to after a night of… well, this. 

Kent threw whatever he was holding, it clattered to the corner of the interrogation room and Jack finally brought himself to look at Eric.

It was so much worse than he expected. 

Eric’s face was covered in bruises, small cuts, and blood. His lip was split and had two black eyes. The handcuff that bound Eric’s hands were brought up and over his head, chained to the far wall, leaving Eric’s chest open and susceptible. His shirt was torn open, and his torso was littered with long, but shallow cuts. He wouldn’t die from blood loss, but they would heal ugly and Eric would forever hate the way his body looked. His head was lulled to the side, and the only thing that was still keeping him up were his bound hands. 

Eric passed out from shock.  

> _ Jack watched the rest of his classmates mill around, red solo cups everywhere, and music too loud and definitely not his taste pumped through large speakers. Kenny dragged him to the party, insisting that he needed to have normal teenage experiences.  _
> 
> _ He did like the alcohol, but not the energy of the room.  _
> 
> _ The vodka allowed Jack to relax and settled right near his diaphragm, exuding a pleasant warmth that he was insistent on keeping there. His mind never lingered on anything too long, just lightly skimming across the surface, then moving onto the next thing that suddenly had to have his attention. Jack’s arms and legs were loose and moved without the instant regret he felt every other second of his life.  _
> 
> _ Kenny was off dancing, happy and wild and in his element. Sweat made his hair stick to his forehead, but that didn’t matter because his eyes were bright and full of mischief. He was moving his hips, messing with his hair, and having too much fun for Jack to disturb.  _
> 
> _ Talking to Kenny was the best order Jack had ever followed.  _
> 
> _ It led to this. To Kenny being free and without a care in the world. Jack has seen the many different sides of Kenny, all of them different but so distinctly  _ Kenny.  _ Jack wanted more, but he didn’t know how to ask.  _
> 
> _ Jack was sixteen when he started playing with a fire he didn’t know how to tamper.  _  
>    
> 

Jack made his decision at the eight-hour mark. He was ashamed that it took him this long to face his fears. He was ashamed he let Eric sit through Kent’s torment for so long. 

Eric didn’t look at Jack when he entered the room. It hurt, but Jack understood.

He dug the keys out of his pocket and approached Eric slowly. He flinched away when Jack reached for the handcuffs. Eric looked at Jack with mixed emotions as he unlocked the cuffs from Eric’s hands. 

“We’re getting out of here,” Jack said softly. 

“Jack?” Eric’s voice was raw and almost inaudible. Jack gave Eric a hoodie and jacket to cover his wounds and help keep him warm. 

He didn’t look at Eric as he led him through the corridors and out into the parking lot. He unlocked his car and motioned for Eric to get in. Jack doesn’t wait for Eric to be finished buckling his seatbelt before he tears out of the parking lot. 

He can hear his heart drumming in his ears, knowing that the consequences are going to come down hard on Jack. He’s terrified of what his father will say, of what lengths Kent will go to when he finds Eric and Jack missing. 

But at the same time, Jack couldn’t bring himself to care. Because for once in his life, he was making a decision. He wasn’t following orders that were whispered into his ear and seared into his brain from years of repeated motions. He wasn’t going to be complacent because Eric was right. 

No one as asking any questions and Jack knew what came from following blindly. That was no way to fight for something. 

His knuckles were turning white from his grip on the steering wheel. He went north on 93 until they were in Burlington. He could feel Eric’s own tension, confused about where they were headed, and even scared that Jack might do something to him.

Jack didn’t want to hurt Eric. 

“What are we doing here?” Eric asked when Jack parked by a pond. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack said in lieu of answering. “I’m so sorry, Bits.”

Jack couldn’t bring himself to look at Eric. He ran his fingers through his hair, gripping it tight. Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

“It’s my fault I didn’t do this sooner. I shouldn’t have even brought you to headquarters. I’m so sorry. I was just doing as I was told and i'm so tired of it, Bits. I’m sorry.”

Eric held his breath and mulled Jacks apology over in his head.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you, Jack.” There was a tremble in Eric’s voice, and Jack deserved every bit of anger directed at him. “But, thank you for letting me go. I might not forgive you, but I do accept your apology.”

Jack let a sob tear out of him. He didn’t even realize that his throat started to close up. He rested his head on the steering wheel, tears rolling down his face. 

Jack never wanted to hurt anyone. 

> _ There were times when the screams couldn’t be muffled. The padded walls did nothing to keep the wailing muffled. At night they were loud enough to be heard halfway across the building. The nights where they screamed in terror--not just to be heard--were nights Jack didn’t sleep.  _
> 
> _ It rattled in his head the following mornings. Kent suggested a room reassignment, or noise-canceling headphones. Jack couldn’t just ignore them though. _
> 
> _ He used to spend days with them, civilians exposed to too much XM over a short time period. The ones who were subdued, content with mumbling about Shapers and drawing glyphs all over anything they could get their hands on, barely noticing that Jack was there sometimes. Others would talk to Jack, going on and on about paranoid stories about being captured by people chasing after them because they have reached a “new plane of existence.”  _
> 
> _ They weren’t necessarily wrong.  _
> 
> _ Jack wondered what their families were told. That they were insane? That they were in a psychiatric ward working towards recovery? Were these people even happy? Were they aware that they reached humanity’s goal too quickly and were paying the consequences for it? _
> 
> _ It weighed heavily on Jack. What was he even trying to do? Ushering in a generation of people who were so out of their fucking mind that others looked at them as a shining example of human evolution? That felt inherently wrong. These people were suffering but they were praised for something they didn’t know was happening to them.  _
> 
> _ Jack was seventeen when the first case of XM sickness was documented. He was seventeen when he had an inkling that something was wrong.  _

Jack turned his scanner over in his hands. He turned it off back in Boston. He should have thrown it out of the car window once he got on 93. 

Eric was still sitting in the car. He was currently on the phone with other Resistance members, reassuring them of his “safety” and catching them up on recent events. Jack let him have his time with his friends alone. He needed the space anyways. 

Jack contemplated running away. Cutting off all communication with his father, with Kent. Drop out of college and live in a remote cabin in the woods somewhere. Away from everything he knew, Jack could live a peaceful life. He could forget about the Shapers, XM, the Resistance and Enlightened. 

He thought about changing his name and moving to Toronto. Maybe pick up hockey again. Maybe convince Eric to come with him, and hide in plain sight. Live like people who weren’t worried about the future. Get a dog, adopt kids, become PTA dads….

As much as Jack wanted to fantasize about turning his back on his entire life, it was just a fantasy. As long as he knew of the battle of ideas and humanity, Jack couldn’t just live idly. After years of passively doing as he was told, there was no way Jack could turn his back on it all.

Jack might not completely run away, but that doesn’t mean he can’t change his perspective. 

He threw his scanner into the pond, watching the ripples it caused to crash against the shore and smooth out into calmness. Jack felt a little bit lighter from the act, but now there wasn’t any turning back. He couldn’t go back to Kenny and beg for acceptance and forgiveness. He couldn’t tell Bob how sorry he was because Jack wasn’t sorry. 

Jack let the midday sun warm his skin. He could see his breath, but that didn’t bother him. 

Eric joined him a few minutes later, keeping a good foot between them. It made Jack’s heartache.

“So what now?” Eric asked. 

“According to shitty movies, this is the part where I try to reform my cynical ways.”

Eric shot Jack a quizzical look. He softened into a small laugh when he saw the small grin on Jack’s face. 

“I’ve figured things out, and I think I'm ready to make my own choices.” Jack shoved his hands in his pockets.

Eric let out a content sigh. “Glad to know I can trust you, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack’s heart lept up into his throat. 

> _ “Zimms, what are you doing?” _
> 
> _ “Go away, Kenny.” _
> 
> _ “You know I can’t do that.” _
> 
> _ “Please.” _
> 
> _ “You know what’s gonna happen if you stay there.” _
> 
> _ “Maybe that’s what I want.” _
> 
> _ “What?! To be so out of your fucking mind that you’re basically a fucking infant?!” _
> 
> _ “Please, go away.” _
> 
> _ “No, Jack I'm not gonna fucking let you do that to yourself.” _
> 
> _ “No, Kenny please, please don’t please.” _
> 
> _ “Snap out of it Jack!” _
> 
> _ “I can’t do this anymore, Kenny, please. Let me do this!” _
> 
> _ “Jack…” _
> 
> _ “I can’t go on like this, Kenny.” _
> 
> _ Jack was nineteen. _

 

Jack knew it was only reasonable to get the same treatment that Eric got when he was at Enlightened headquarters. An eye for an eye, Hammurabi said. 

As soon as Eric was in the arms of someone who would clean him up, Jack was face to face with a large fist that collided with his nose, almost breaking it. He landed flat on his ass, and had a few seconds to register what was happening before he was being lifted by the collar. His back was slammed against his car and was entirely too close to the face of the man who sucker punched him.

“You Enlightened goon who hurt B?” The man asked, voice low and threatening.

Jack tried to wipe away some of the blood running down his face and said, “I wish I wasn’t.” 

It’s the truth. Jack did hurt Eric. Maybe not the way Kent did, but it was ten times worse. 

The man huffed, trying to figure out a way to make Jack go through the same pain Eric did. He couldn’t figure out a way to do so, not out on the front lawn anyway, so he let Jack go and sauntered inside behind Eric. 

Jack didn’t know what he should have been waiting for if he was waiting for anything at all. So he stood outside next to his car, putting his future in the hands of the Resistance. He was letting Eric debrief them, allow him to bring up the proposition. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched if one of their own said it first. 

He kicked at the blood-stained snow and spiraled into a never-ending pit of intrusive thoughts and anxiety. 

The front door opened and two faces Jack wasn’t expecting but should have walked out and stood on the porch. Shitty and Larissa. He was secretly happy with their presence, no matter which way this conversation went, Jack was just happy they were doing something they believed in. 

Larissa approached him first. “Bits told us everything.”

Jack wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond.

“No one is happy about the situation.”

Jack nodded. “You have the right to want to murder me. I’m not offended.”

“You’re right, a lot of our problems would be solved with you gone.”

“I’m gone if you want me to be.”

It’s a genuine offer. He wouldn’t have Eric with him, but Jack would go and try to have a normal life if he had to. 

“You’re also very valuable.”

“I am,” Jack agreed, more passive than it should have been. 

Larissa nodded, taking in the information and processing it. She turned on her heels and walked back over to Shitty. She whispered in his ear then disappeared inside. 

Shitty, when he needed it, had one of the best poker faces Jack had ever seen--and that was including his own. His steps were almost exaggeratedly normal, no hint of personality, and Jack wondered if this was how Shitty presented himself to his parents. 

“So,” Shitty started, “no one likes you.”

“Larissa told me.”

“But, you got Bitty outta there, and for that we’re grateful.” Shitty fiddled with his jacket pockets. “What are your plans?”

“Hit the road and never looking back,” Jack told him.

“How would you feel about ‘reforming your cynical ways’?” Shitty started to grin at Jack.

If Jack started to cry, Shitty wasn’t going to tell anyone. 

> _ “Jack….” Bob looked at him with concern.  _
> 
> _ “Please let me do this. It won’t happen again, Sir.” _
> 
> _ Boston was Jack’s only hope at redemption. After a year of talking to psychologists and basically being on suicide watch, Jack was aching to prove himself to his papa. Prove himself to the Shapers. Prove that his lifelong training wasn’t for nothing.  _
> 
> _ Jack was going to do great things. He was told so long ago. He had to live up to those expectations.  _
> 
> _ “Okay. Tell Parse--” _
> 
> _ “No,” Jack said. “Not Kent. I can handle Boston by myself. The base there just needs a leader, and Kent’s needed here in Montreal.” _
> 
> _ “Jack, I can’t just let you go out on your own. You know just as well as I do what happened last time.” _
> 
> _ “And that’s why I should go to Boston alone. Having a safety net leaves room for impulsive decisions, but if it’s just me, I’ll be less likely to put the base in jeopardy.”  _
> 
> _ Jack knew Bob was torn. This was the first time since Jack was a teenager that he had ever fought for something. That drive alone was almost enough to get him the reassignment. But the parent in Bob was struggling to keep Jack safe, within arms reach. _
> 
> _ Jack just wished that Bob would make up is mind when it came to dealing with Jack. Either treat Jack like a subordinate or a son, trying to do both only caused turmoil and pain.  _
> 
> _ “Fine,” Bob said. “No supervision. Make me proud, son.” _


	9. Elephant

The amount of time Eric spent sleeping or hiding away in the spare bedroom was concerning to everyone, including him. 

His face was starting to heal, but it was at the stage where the bruises were the ugly green-yellow that made him look like an alien. His torso was a different story. Ransom said that he was lucky, Kent had avoided the important organs and only left one gash that needed stitches. Thirty stitches to be exact. 

Eric was no longer on bed rest, but he still refused to go downstairs. The only time he ever left the room was to use the bathroom. Everyone took turns bringing him food and spending time with him. Everyone but Jack.

He didn’t even know how he would react if he saw Jack. 

Nightmares painted him and Kent as demons who would do anything to get what they want. There were times where he laid in bed and still felt the drag of the knife against his skin. Eric hated the way he looked. He hated how he was scared all over again. 

Eric knew that Jack wasn’t the one holding the knife, but he sat on the sidelines and let it happen until guilt forced his hand. Counselors used to tell Eric that bystanders do just as much damage as the bullies. 

He sat under his blankets, did his homework whenever he was bored enough, and surfed the internet to pass time. If he wasn’t riddled with bruises and wounds, Eric could pretend he was a regular college student. 

Having a normal life sounded really good. Would Lardo let him quit? What would Mama and Coach say when he comes home looking the way he did? Would he ever be able to explain to his future boyfriends why he’s covered in ugly scars? Would Jack stay away, or come looking for him?

Would he ever be able to look at Jack the same way?

Eric should have trusted his instincts, he just didn’t think denial would ever lead to this. 

And look at him now.

It was like he was in middle school again. He hated it with every fiber of his being. Old and new wounds were opened and emotions were spilling out of him and he couldn’t figure out where to apply the bandages.  

Eric spent a lot of his time curled under his blanket, wondering if this was the consequence of playing hero. 

There was a knock on the door. Eric wrapped the blanket around himself and shuffled over to answer it. Behind the door was Tater, holding a very small, but adorable beagle.

“Is Tots,” Tater said with a wide grin. “Thought maybe B would want to pet her. Or go for walk?”

At the word “walk,” Tots started wiggling impatiently, barking and yowling. 

Eric could help but smile. Tots was cuter than Tater led him on to believe. A cute pink tummy and darker colored markings. Eric always was a sucker for cute animals. 

“Tots wants B to walk her!” Tater attached the leash to her harness and handed it to Eric.

Before Eric could even start to protest, Tater dragged the blanket off of him and started ushering him downstairs. The high every energy, and loud arguing between Eric and Tater only served to work Tots up more.

The front door to the Haus was slammed closed behind him, and Tots started to pull on her leash as she frantically tried to sniff everything and play in the snow. Eric was stuck in a hoodie, sweatpants, and slippers. He really had no choice now. 

Eric begrudgingly allowed Tots to lead the way but came to a halt at the property line. 

What if Kent’s out there right now? Kent knew who he was, it would only be a matter of time before Kent found him. And what would he do then? More awful interrogation? Would they even bother interrogating him?

The cuts on his chest ached as he remembered what it was like to be chained to that wall. Oppressive terror, the constant and sharp pain, Kent’s frustrated face when Eric refused to give an answer. His own screams echoed in his head. 

The only person who knew the details of his suffering was Jack. 

Jack, who let Eric go, brought him back to the Haus-- tossed his scanner into a lake and begged for Eric’s forgiveness. Jack, who sat there for eight hours watching Kent mentally and physically torture Eric. Jack, who said that he would always be there for Eric. Who knew his body so well, that now it might as well be an alien planet. 

None of the memories had a start or finish, blank spaces here and there confused him. He had no way of telling time in that room, every punch, drag of a knife, angry question repeated over and over and over, Eric wouldn’t be able to tell what order they happened in. 

He curled on into himself, terrified for his life. Sure, Tots was there, but what could she do? Bark? Try to hurt the sick Enlightened fucks who would undoubtedly put their grimy hands all over Eric and start the cycle over and over until he either died or pleaded for mercy. 

Eric was gasping for air, but it was cold and crisp, stabbing at his lungs and making him regret every breath he took. The snow was starting to melt under him, soaking his pants, but Eric didn’t care. The frigid water helped to remind him of where he was. 

In front of the Haus.

Like a pansy ass bitch who was too afraid to leave his home. 

In the background, Tots was barking, feet were shuffling and so many voices were around him. A suffocating ambiance that made him curl up more. There was a pair of hands on his shoulders, and he acted on instinct, screaming and throwing himself back so he was out of reach of whoever was trying to grab him.

Through tear clouded eyes and his own hands, Eric could see Jack squatting in front of him, hands outstretched to help. Eric knew the look on Jack’s face. It’s the same one Mama used to give him.

Ransom and Holster push past Jack and made sure to stay in Eric’s line of sight. Ransom was talking to him, trying to tell him something in a far and distorted voice. Eric didn’t care what Ransom was saying, he just wanted to go lay down again and forget everything over the past month. He reached out and grabbed Holster’s shirt and Holster quickly picked up at Eric’s request.

Holster carried Eric passed Jack, back inside, up the stairs, and into his room, setting him down on the bed gently. 

“Your clothes are soaking, Bitty,” he said, tugging at the hoodie which Eric was just now noticed was wet and covered in snow. 

Eric nodded, with a pounding in his head and sharp pain around his stitches. The hoodie came off and Eric looked down to see that his stitches were seeping.

“I’ll get Ransom, put on some warm pants while you wait.” With those instructions, Holster left Eric alone.

* * *

Binge watching Netflix was much more tolerable now that Eric didn’t have to listen to Holster’s constant commentary. It allowed his mind to fuzz into this void state of autopilot where the information was being registered, and unregistered simultaneously. It was the next best thing to baking; Eric wasn’t sure if he could brave going downstairs and seeing Jack anytime soon.

With brand new bandages patched around his stitches, Eric laid on his bed with Tots sleeping in the crook of his elbow and consumed whatever stupid show Holster put on for him when Ransom finished with his stitches. Every once and awhile Eric drifted off, only to be woken by Tots insistent whines and licking his face to make sure he was still alive. Maybe that was why he had Tots in his room, to alert the entire Haus of Eric’s condition.

A living, breathing baby monitor. 

Great.

Eric tensed when there was a light rap on the door. Tots nuzzled her nose into his armpit in an attempt to calm him down. 

“Come in,” he yelled.

When the door opened, Eric was ready to leap through the window. 

Jack closed the door softly behind him and leaned against it. His eyes were immediately drawn to Eric’s torso, bare and littered with healing wounds and bandages. Eric should have felt self-conscious about it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about what Jack thought of his new image. 

Maybe he could tell people he was in a gang. Not too far from the truth.

“Um,” Jack said, forcing his eyes down at his feet. He held out a small bag, “we filled you a prescription. Painkillers.”

“Oh.” Eric nodded at the desk, “You can put them over there.”

Jack did so but continued to linger in the room. It was obvious Jack wanted to talk, so Eric paused the episode and nudged Tots onto his lap as he sat up. She quickly settled and went back to her nap. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack said for what felt like the millionth time.

Eric sighed. “Listen, Jack, if all you’re ever going to do is apologize, you can leave. I’ve already accepted once, putting your own guilt onto me won’t help anything.”

Jack looked like he had just been punched, eyes blown wide in confusion and mouth slightly agape. “No, Bittle, I--” He stopped, trying to piece together a sentence that wasn’t an apology. “We’re going to take Boston.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Resistance. We’re taking Boston by driving the Enlightened out.”

“That’s insane.”

“I know.” Jack pulled out the desk chair and sat next to the bed. “The Shapers are getting impatient. Each day, new portals open up, and old ones just continue to produce more and more XM. They’re speeding up the timeline.”

Eric knew that Jack was speaking English--he comprehended every word in that sentence--but he couldn’t fathom the idea. 

“How do you know this?” he asked.

Jack took a deep breath. “Remember when I was telling you about glyphs?” Eric nodded. “Well, they’re a language, the Shaper’s written language.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Jack shook his head. “XM works both as a biochemical and a piece of code. It’s weird. The Enlightened have something called the Jarvis Program, it basically translates the code--which is written in glyphs. They can’t figure out a way to respond yet, but they know the Shaper’s intentions.”

“Like how a message in a bottle works?”

“Exactly. They’re trying to find a way to rewrite some of the code with the Jarvis Program and send it back through a portal.”

“Which is dangerous,” Eric concluded. 

“Yes, because then information can be sent both ways, and you do not want that.”

It was pretty easy to see why. It’s a cult getting into contact with their deity really. They would do anything to please their gods.

“So what would taking Boston do?” Eric asked.

“In the grand scheme of things, almost nothing. But after Boston we’re taking Providence, hoping that more bases would catch on. If enough do, then we might be able to at least put a rock in their path.”

Eric remembered Farmer, her drawings, and had to go retrieve the one she gave him. 

“Chowder’s girlfriend has XM sickness. How does she know about glyphs?” He handed jack the page.

Jack ran his hands through his hair, and honestly. Eric should still definitely be afraid and pissed at Jack, but damn that was still very attractive. 

“The same way we found out about them,” Jack said plainly. “The brain is basically an organic computer. XM basically rewrites a tiny fraction of the brain’s natural code--changing how it functions. When exposed to too much in a small time frame, or over a long period of time, all of the brain is changed. That’s the cause of XM sickness. Some people still function well afterwards, but others….” Jack trailed off like he didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

But Eric knows. Overexposure got him once, and it was intense and horrifying. 

“Have you told Ransom about this? He and Dex would flip.”

For the first time since entering the room, Jack smiled, faint enough that it could be written off. But Eric saw it. “They did, and of course they didn’t believe me, but the Enlightened are leaps and bounds ahead of you guys. Your Resonators are impressive, but nothing near what the Enlightened have.”

Eric allowed Jack’s words to sink in. For all this time, they all believe that the Resistance had the best technology known to man. And they didn’t. It was like the story of Atlantis. A city far more technologically advanced than the rest of the world around it.

“So, how do we take Boston?” It was the question Erc knew had to be asked, and judging by Jack’s expression, he knew the answer.

“You take down Kent.”

* * *

A map of Boston was pulled up on the monitors, wiped free of Portal locations. Jack was studying the map, arms crossed and his expression focused alongside Lardo. Whenever she drew something on the iPad, it showed up on the map, highlighting streets, small red circles and arrows erased and drawn all over again when Jack pointed out flaws. 

Eric watched them from the entryway. They didn’t argue about the plans, just noticed each other's weak points and quietly fixed them. 

Jack quickly, and without much resistance, slotted himself beside Lardo. The information that Jack had was more valuable than the B2s and R2s by tenfold. He had locations of Enlightened bases scattered throughout Massachusetts and parts of Quebec, helped Ransom adjust his research, and helped Ollie and Wicky create new blueprints. Jack, despite not knowing how to have a casual conversation, he looked happier. 

Eric chewed at his bottom lip, then padded over to the kitchen. He started pulling out ingredients for muffins, wondering how anyone survives without him cooking three meals a day for them. It was a wonder they had any eggs left.

The rhythm of baking was definitely something he missed. It was weird how someone could miss flour getting all over the place, but Eric still did and has multiple times. However, coming back to it always felt unique, special, a feeling he would never experience twice. 

His phone vibrated on the counter beside him. Eric cleaned his hands and checked the text that was sent. 

**Jack** **_(2:08 PM):_ ** _ I’m glad you’re baking again. _

Eric locked his phone and pushed the text out of his mind. His emotions towards Jack weren’t something Eric wanted to confront. He just wanted everything to be over. Even if that meant cutting off ties with Jack. Eric didn’t want to live in fear. 

* * *

“So how long are we not going to talk about the elephant in the room?”

“Ransom, dude.”

“No, seriously, I’m concerned for Bits.”

“We all are.”

“I know, but he can barely go outside.”

“He’s recovering.”

“It’s been three weeks.”

“Maybe we should call a shrink?”

“They’re called therapists.”

“He still needs to talk to someone, and he hasn’t told us anything.”

“Yeah, no shit. The guy is still trying to process what that sick fuck did to him.”

“I get that but bottling it up isn’t gonna help.”

“He was chained to a wall.”

…

“I watched. I saw the whole thing.”

“Jack.”

“I could have prevented it.” 

Eric raised from his perch on the stairs and quietly walked back into his room.

* * *

Lardo was the first to confront him about it. She sat next to him on the counter while he cooked dinner, choosing the songs that played and showing him pictures of baby ducks that Shitty would send her. Eric talked to her about school, whether he should continue or not--look into online classes and see if he should move into the Haus. 

“Do you want to get froyo with me later tonight?” Lardo asked, casually like she and the rest of his friends didn’t talk about him last night. 

Eric pursed his lips and rolled from his toes to his heels and back. He wanted to shout, and get angry, to ask his friends why they couldn’t bring their concerns up with him. But he knew why. Eric was a minefield. 

Lardo was lucky the mine she stepped on was dead. 

“Uh, yeah. Why not make it a group trip?” he smiled. “The more the merrier.”

“What about Jack?” 

Eric shrugged. “Yeah, of course.”

Lardo glanced around the room, then said quietly: “when are you going to talk to him?”

The knife Eric was holding slipped and just barely missed his finger. He set it down and pushed the cutting board away from him. 

“Bits, c’mon.”

Eric took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m not ready.” 

She didn’t press the issue. 

 


	10. Ace of Spades

“Ah, fuck,” Eric hissed as he pulled off the bandage. Ransom took out the stitches the night before, the cut still needed a long time to heal but now he didn’t have to worry about ripping the stitches. It was still bleeding, of course, Eric was just glad it was healing.

He cleaned the area around the wound, rubbing away blood and sweat that collected under the bandage. It was sore, but Eric didn’t mind looking at it as much anymore. A mundane, everyday chore. He applied a new bandage the way Ransom showed him and dared a look in the mirror. 

Without his shirt on, Eric hardly recognized himself. Dark circles were very evident, and his hair was growing out a lot more than he preferred. Some of the shallower cuts had turned into white raised scars, while others were on the way to healing. The bandage was placed right under his left peck, taking up a good portion of the left ribcage. Eric ran his fingers over his scars, trying to get used to the idea that these were with him forever. He wanted them to feel real, and not like some dream he was waiting to wake up from.

Eric pulled his shirt over his head and disposed of all the trash then headed back to his room. He had to squeeze past Jack in the hall, so Eric kept his head down, whispered a “hello” and tried to rush into his room as fast as possible.

“Bits, wait.” Jack reached out, lightly touching Eric’s fingers. “I miss you.”

“Jack, I can’t,” Eric said, keeping his eyes trained on his door. 

“You’re stronger than this,” Jack said, taking a step closer. “You’re stronger than the fear.”

Eric had a thousand different responses bouncing around in his head, what ended up coming out wasn’t the one he intended. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” he sobbed, pressing his head against the door. Sobs shook his entire body, making his ribs ache. 

“You’re Eric Bittle,” Jack whispered, the obvious statement made Eric laugh alongside his tears. “You are a fantastic cook and baker, and you care so genuinely about the people around you.”

“Jack, you dork,” Eric laughed as he tried to wipe the tears from his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What happened--what I let happen--didn’t change you. No matter what Kent threw at you, all you would give him was this bone-chilling stare and refused to sell out your friends.” Jack tucked a strand of hair behind Eric’s ear, causing him to turn and look up at Jack. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. But I understand if you don’t want to, you know--” he gestured between the both of them “--I don’t expect you to just let everything go. If you think that you can’t be with me, that’s fine too. I regret everything, and I hate myself and I hate how scared you are.”

“Jack, it’s not--” Eric didn’t know how to finish that sentence. It’s not your fault? It’s not your problem? I don’t blame you? The words themselves were a paradox, but he didn’t know what else to tell Jack. 

Jack wasn’t the one holding the knife.

But he did chloroform Eric, and he did watch everything through a two-way mirror for nine hours without saying anything. 

“The Eric Bittle I know wouldn’t let this stop him. If anything it would push him further.” Jack pressed a soft kiss to Eric’s forehead before he was out of reach and down the stairs.

Eric curled and flexed his fingers, trying to grasp what happened in the last five minutes. In so many ways, Jack was right. He couldn’t live in fear for the rest of his life. If Kent comes after him again, Eric refused to go silently. 

A new fire was lit in his gut, small and dim but with the promise to grow and burst out of his skin. 

He grabbed his jacket and  _ thumped  _ down the stairs and grabbed the first hand he could find.

“Um, Bitty?” Dex asked as he was being dragged out the front door. “Where we going?”

“Grocery shopping.”

* * *

The Haus was filled to its brim, people packed in like sardines. Eric never realized how many Resistance members were in Massachusetts, and that wasn’t even counting the handful of Providence agents in town. All of them eager to hear Jack’s plan to storm the Enlightened.

“A layout will be sent to all of your scanners, it’s marked with all possible entrances and exits on all four floors. Use it to keep track of where you are once inside, every hallway looks almost exactly the same so getting lost can be very easy.

“Always stay in groups of two or more. Some of the higher ups carry guns, but they’re few and far between. Kent Parson,” a picture of Kent appeared on the monitor, “is our primary target. I would rather we keep him alive and ship him back to Montreal. We have tranquilizers and stun guns, use those first before you even think about pulling out a firearm.”

“Gather all information from the computers then trash the place,” Dex said. “Hell, take a baseball bat to them for all I care.”

There were a few laughs, which helped lighten the mood a bit. 

The monitors transitioned into a layout plan of the Enlightened headquarters and the surrounding streets. “We will be split into small groups, multiple of which will be infiltrating while others hold their positions outside. Here, here and here are the main areas where groups Whiskey, Tango, and Foxtrot will be located.”

“You beautiful fucking nerd, Zimmerman!” Shitty yelled from his position on the stairs. 

Jack flushed slightly but continued to explain to the crowd. It was complicated, and very well thought out. Jack and Lardo put so much time and effort into working out all the kinks. The only thing now was the unpredictable nature of people.

Eric was shoved into Jack’s car alongside Chowder, Ransom, and Holster. Like the hive mind that was his friend group, it was collectively decided that Eric would get the passenger seat. As much as he loved them, they were all little shits. 

He didn’t remember his first trip to the Enlightened headquarters, so Eric tried his best to keep track of where they were going in case he had to find his own way back to the Haus. It also kept him occupied and not thinking about how he was going back to that place. He walked the halls of that building so many times in his nightmares, dripping blood as he wandered endlessly and trying to find a way out. 

It made his toes curl in anticipation. Or was it something else? Eric couldn’t decide if he wanted to decrypt what he was feeling. 

Eric glanced over at Jack, maybe he was feeling the same thing. The Enlightened was all Jack ever knew, he ran from it all, and was now on his way to fight back against them. Eric could only imagine the turmoil Jack was in.

Twenty minutes later, Jack parked in an alley about thirty meters from the headquarters. They all turned on their earpieces and tuned into the open channel everyone else was using.

“Group Alpha is in position,” Jack said, his voice echoing in Eric’s ear with how close they were.

_ “Thanks, Jack,”  _ Lardo answered from the Haus where she was monitoring each group's whereabouts. 

With that, other groups began to check in, and Jack started giving directions to group leaders. They climbed out of the car, and Eric tugged his hood over his head. 

_ “Groups Echo and Zulu are in route to second,”  _ Lardo said. 

Eric caught Jack’s slight nod and his recovery when he remembered that Lardo couldn’t see him. 

“Copy that, Alpha is also on the way.”

Jack led them through alleyways between a variety of buildings to keep them out of the street. Jack was on point, with Eric sandwiched between Ransom and Holster, while Chowder brought up the rear.

Eric even being on this mission was a debate of its own. Almost everyone was against him going, weary of Eric’s psyche and what kind of trauma would bubble up and take over. Eric fought it, hard. After his encounter with Jack, Eric was more comfortable about going outside, mostly during the afternoon where the sun was highest in the sky and took someone with him. He refused to let his friends go into that building without him. 

It was less about pride and more about determination. If he didn’t take this opportunity to take control of the person and place that kept him up at night, he wouldn’t ever be able to truly embrace himself. Or so he thought. 

Whether or not Eric worked through this wasn’t dependent on this mission. That wasn’t how the brain worked. But he ran away in middle school, ran off to the mountains and then to Madison, and he never truly came to terms with the incident. Eric didn’t want to live the rest of his life with this missed opportunity hanging over his head.

They stopped a block away, where Jack instructed them to keep low. “Security cameras,” he reminded them. “Dex, you’re on deck.”

_ “Ready when you are.” _

Jack patched Dex into the Enlightened’s security system, apparently, Kent didn’t think to put up a new firewall. With a little help from Jack, Dex would loop the security footage from every camera making all of the Resistance members essentially invisible. 

_ “Double checking now…. Okay, groups Alpha, Echo and Zulu are go for infiltration.”  _

Lightly, the group made its way over to the building, careful to stay in the shadows just in case. Chowder was the one to approach the loading bay side door. There was an electronic lock requiring a code to open. Chowder pulled out some tools from his pockets and unscrewed the panel, exposing the wiring. Within second, Chowder was able to connect his scanner to the lock where it randomly generated numbers until it found the combination. 

Chowder looked back at Jack then nodded. They all made they’re way over, positioning themselves around the door; this was where it all started.

Not with a bang, but with a quiet and empty hallway.

Jack’s shoulders relaxed a bit, probably finding some familiarity. He knew this place so well, it made sense for him to inherently find comfort in it. Jack was a creature of habit. 

Stepping inside had the opposite effect on Eric. Fingers wrapped around his neck, possessive and serving as a reminder of not just what he’s fighting for, but what threatened to oppress him. It wasn’t a tight hold, Eric wasn’t afraid of suffocating he did, however, want to turn tail and let his friends deal with everything without him. Eric still persisted forward.

“Mission control is on this floor,” Jack said, rehashing knowledge he shared earlier. “Even if Kent isn’t there, it’s important for us to take.”

“Roger, roger,” Holster mocked. Ransom, Chowder, and Eric tried not to burst out laughing. This wasn’t the time to be making Star Wars jokes, yet Jack’s puzzled expression made it hard to resist.

“Anyways,” Jack frowned, “keep the footfalls light, and try not to make a line.” 

Jack led them through a series of plain, nondescript halls. Eric tried to see if he could recognize anything, but he quickly realized it was a fruitless endeavor.  He used all of his effort to stay focus on getting out, with searing pain every time he took a breath. 

They rounded the corner and immediately froze. There were two men in more formal attire, casually chatting in the hall, one was leaning against a door, facing the group. They seemed not to notice the group of intruders, so Jack motioned for them to turn back.

“Jack?”

Everyone froze. Both of the men turned, they had friendly expressions but Eric saw the emblems sewn onto their vests. 

“Welcome, back!” The taller man said. “Parse said you got called up north, how was it?”

Kent didn’t tell anyone about Jack running away. 

“Snowing,” Jack played along, “it was nice to be back home.”

“Recruits?” The other one asked, looking over at Eric and the others. 

Eric’s pulse raced. How the hell was Jack going to play this?

“Kenny brought them in, yeah. Asked me to keep an eye on them.”

“Geez, you’re always stuck with the rookies, aren’t ya’?” The two men laughed. “What’s with the clothes, Jack?” The tall man pulled on Jack’s jacket for emphasis, it was a playful action that no one would normally think twice about in any other situation.

He pulled the jacket just a little too far, catching sight of the Resistance emblem on Jack’s shirt. The man furrowed his brows and took notice of the blue on Eric’s hoodie. It didn’t take long for him to put two and two together.

“Holster!” Jack called, pulling out his own tranq gun and pressing it to the neck of the man in front of him. He swiftly pulled the trigger, and the drug was administered into the man’s system. It took a few seconds to kick in, just enough time to try and throw a punch at Jack. He sidestepped the fist and hit the guy in the gut, stunning him. When the drug kicked in, the man dropped to the floor.

During which, Holster had taken out his own tranquilizer and went for the  Enlightened member he was close too. This was a bit more of a struggle since the Enlightened member had a fraction of a second longer to process what happened and ducked when Holster tried to get close enough. 

Unable to do anything without each other, Ransom was quick to help Holster out. Ransom twisted the guy’s arm behind his back and covered his mouth to keep him from shouting. Just to keep the Enlightened member from trying to warm his way free, Ransom shoved the man into the wall and pinned him there so Holster could give him the drug. After a few for seconds of struggling, the man went slack and Ransom let him drop to the floor. 

“Wow, that was so cool!” Chowder said in awe. “It was just like watching an action movie!”

“We need to put them somewhere,” Jack said, not really ignoring the comment but keeping them all on track. “That room up ahead might be unlocked.” 

Chowder went ahead to check. Holster, Jack, and Ransom were able to drag both unconscious men into a small room. Their hands and feet were bound by zip ties to keep them as manageable as possible when they wake up. 

Watching them manhandle those men sent a chill running down Eric’s spine. They were so lifeless and limp, like putty that slipped between your fingers. 

Jack caught Eric’s gaze after he closed the door. His thoughts but have been written all over his face because Jack softened a bit. He placed his hand on the nape of Eric’s neck, gently playing with some of the hair that still desperately needed a haircut.

“Try not to think about it,” Jack told him, then went off to catch up with the others who wandered down the hall a bit.

Eric trailed behind, he didn’t know if he could just block out things like that, but he did need to keep moving. 

Surprisingly, those were the Enlightened agents that Eric and the group encountered. Jack guessed it was because day shifts were more typical for most members, more like a day job for them while the Resistance acted more at night. 

“That’s unfair,” Ransom complained. “Compared to you guys I feel like I’m doing community service!”

“The lack of money in my life is honestly devastating,” Holster sighed. 

“Suck it up,” Jack told them. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. I may not have needed a day job, but it was dirty money. Providence receives funding too.”

“Is it possible for me to transfer to Providence?” 

That got a chuckle out of Jack. It was good to see him without that stoic frown all the time. Eric remembered how good that laugh sounded and how Jack looked better with a joyful grin. He may not have always known the real Jack, but Eric remembered when they were both laying in his bed where Jack had been as honest as possible with Eric, and how he felt like he was on the top of the world. 

Eric hoped that one day he would be able to feel like that again. He really wanted that back.

In a shorter amount of time that felt real, they turned another corner to see a wall made entirely of glass. On the other side it looked shockingly similar to the Haus’ den, just scaled up by five hundred. The adjacent wall was covered with large monitors, some playing late night news, while others were riddled with numbers, images, and graphs. Basically, what Eric saw anytime he looked over Holster’s or Dex’s shoulder while on their computers. There were also dozens of individual computers. Most of them shut down, but some were still lit up and in active use. 

“Dex would have a nerdgasm if he saw this,” Chowder gasped.

_ “First off, I can hear you. Second, go fuck yourself, Chow.”   _

There were only a few people inside mission control, none of which seemed to be doing anything important. Two different people were on their phones, while another person was lounging in a chair positioned closer to the center of the room. All in all, there were at least five people from what Eric could see, leaving them evenly matched numbers wise. Unless there were more then they would be fucked. 

Knowing all of this, Jack just casually walked in, tranq and stun guns safely holstered in place. 

“Swoops,” he said as he pushed open the glass door. The man in the chair looked over, eyebrows raised but composed. 

“Jack.” Eric hissed, chasing after him. 

“What was the point of all of this if he was just going to fucking walk in?” Holster bemoaned. 

“Sup’ Zimms?” The guy referred to as Swoops said, still sitting in his chair.

Everyone else stopped whatever mundane work they were doing to see what the commotion was about. 

“Where is he? Where’s Kent?” He asked, shockingly composed when he stood next to Swoops.

“Guy’s a free spirit, how am I supposed to know?”

“You’re engaged to him.”

“Doesn’t mean I keep constant tabs on him.”

“Don’t lie to me, Swoops.” 

Swoops sighed dramatically and got out of his chair. He looked over at Eric, taking him in for all he was worth. “Sometimes I forget how impulsive you are, Zimms.” He gently shoved his elbow into Jack’s side. “Is it cause he gives good head? Whatever. Last I knew, Kenny was in a conference call. Probably long over, now.”

Jack mulled over this information for a few seconds. “So why aren’t you kicking my ass right now?”

Swoops shrugged. “I follow Kent, you know that.”

“Doesn’t explain the lack of kill order.”

“He already called your dad, I didn’t really see a point in adding insult to injury.”

Jack went ridged, clenching his fists and desperately trying to keep them at his sides. His head was slightly hung, letting everything sink in. Eric wanted to reach out to him. 

“Have fun with your new ‘buddies,’ Jack.” Swoops offered Jack a fist bump. “Looking forward to the next time I see you.”

Jack let out a slow, controlled breath, then pressed his own fist to Swoops. “This better be the last,” Jack said before he walked away, dragging Eric out the door with him.

Like the children they pretended they aren’t, Jack was bombarded with questions from Ransom, Holster, and Chowder and all of them he refused to answer.

“Um, what the fuck?”

“Who was that guy?!”

“Is it okay for us to just leave them like that?”

“What the fuck happened to ‘securing mission control’?”

“Are they not gonna come after us?”

“This is some cryptic bullshit, man. You can’t just not explain what happened in there.”

“Jack,” Eric said softly, tentatively touching Jack’s elbow. “Don’t shut down on us now. We’re almost done.”

Jack was quiet for a moment, then somberly nodded. “You’re right.” He turned to address the other three boys. “Swoops understands that they’re backed into a corner. He knew I wouldn’t show up again without a gameplan and he isn’t a sore loser like Kent is. I want you four to stay here in case someone else is stupid enough to fight back.”

“Yeah? And where are you going?” Ransom crossed his arms.

“To deal with Kent.”

The fingers around Eric’s throat tightened slightly. “No,” he said.

“I’m not fighting you on this Bitt--”

“Not alone,” Eric clarified. “You said to stay in groups of two or more. Besides, I need to see Kent again.”

Eric left no room for rebuttals, he refused to let Jack do this alone. No matter how he looked at it, Eric deserved this confrontation just as much as Jack did. He learned too late in life that facing his demons was something he had to go into guns blazing. He wasn’t going to sit back while Jack did it for him. 

Plus, Eric wanted to beat the ever-living shit out of Kent.

“Fine,” Jack conceded. “No one leaves that room, do you copy?”

“Roger, roger,” Holster grinned. 

Jack rolled his eyes and ushered Eric up a flight of stairs. They quickly moved through the halls, the walls were covered in photos of people, some in groups others were portraits, and were painted in warmer colors than the sterile white downstairs. It reminded Eric of Jack’s bedroom in a way, homey but detached.  

Group Echo was gathered in one of the break rooms, larger of the few that Eric had seen in passing and had couches with a large tv, with unconscious Enlightened members secured and slumped over each other on the couches. Shitty pounced on Jack when they entered, pressing sloppy and over the top kisses all over Jack’s face. 

Once Shitty was done climbing over Jack and moved on to side hug Eric, Jack checked the hostages on the off chance that Kent went down without a fight. Unsatisfied with the results, Jack scrubbed his face.

“Think, Jack, think,” he mumbled to himself.

Shitty whistled and turned him and Eric around so they could give Jack the illusion of privacy. Eric wished he could help somehow, Jack wasn’t thinking about where he was going or what he was going to do once he came across Kent. There were so many things that needed to be said between those two, Eric just hoped Jack was going to get the closure and ending he needed. 

“I’ll be right back,” Eric told Shitty.

Eric made his way over to Jack and put a hand on his arm. Jack didn’t look over at him, just kept staring at a wall with pinched eyebrows and a frown Eric hadn’t seen since he first met Jack.

“If you keep thinking so loudly, you’re going to blow a circuit, honey,” Eric chirped, putting himself in Jack’s line of vision. 

Jack’s eyes refocused on Eric as he snapped out of whatever stake he was in. “Sorry,” Jack mumbled, disheveling his hair.

“Just, deep breath in, then take a step back and stop over thinking this. We will find him, Jack. Zulu group probably has him cornered.” Eric tried to bring his hands up, to cup Jack’s cheek and kiss him just to breathe some confidence into that man, but they stay anchored on Jack’s biceps. 

_ “Zimmerman? It’s Nursey, we have eyes on Parson. Thought you might want the heads up.”  _

“Speak of the devil,” Eric said with a small grin.

Jack closed his eyes and let out a slow, long breath. “Where are you, Nurse?”

_ “Third floor. Parson’s currently in what looks like a training room? I hope you know what I’m talking about because I sure as hell don’t.” _

“I know the place. We’ll be there in a few, make sure you stay out of his sight. Is the rest of the floor secure?”

_ “Yeah, Ollie and Wicky are with me while the rest of Zulu is on the fourth floor. We should have the whole building under control in an hour or less.”  _

A quiet wave of sighs and soft laughs washed through the room. Eric almost couldn’t believe this was happening. They were going to kick Kent’s teeth in, and it will be over. Eric could sleep a full eight hours, spend next semester focused on his classes, and still hang out at the Haus with his friends and do work he deems important. It was a shining bright light right in front of his face, he could touch it if he tried. 

“Good work everyone. Stay on your toes, this fight isn’t over till we’re shipping these guys out of Boston.” Jack looked down at Eric and playfully tipped up his chin. “Let’s go, Bittle.”

Finding Nursey was a simple task. Jack, knowing the Enlightened headquarters like the back of his god damn hand, navigated the halls with easy and got to Nursey’s location in five minutes. 

It was one of those things that when you think really hard about it was fucked in a lot of ways. 

Just like Nursey said, Kent was in what looked to be a home gym, throwing fast and heavy punches at a punching bag. Nursey had them crouching behind a wall a few meters back, banking mostly on the fact that Kent had earbuds in and kept his back towards their position. 

They all stayed quiet, waiting for Jack’s directions. 

“Don’t come out until the entire building has been taken and Lardo has moved onto the next phase.” Jack started to shuck off his jacket and gun holsters until all he was wearing was a black tank top with the Resistance emblem stretching down the back. 

It took Eric’s breath away. He had seen Jack in all stages of undress, but none of them had this effect on him. Eric was so used to seeing the Resistance’s emblem that it basically was a blind spot to him now, yet now he couldn’t look away. A light blue key designed with sharp turns and thick lines fitted neatly inside a pentagon. 

Everyone had their own ideas about what it really meant. Hall never put down any restrictions on it, letting everyone find their own purpose for fighting and giving it shape. In the form of a key.  

Eric likened it to a vault. People put money inside banks because they want to be able to have something in place to keep them from going wild and crashing the economy. The Resistance was the vault keeping XM from destroying the brains of the world’s population. As long as they kept the key close to their chests, maybe humanity will be able to someday choose whether or not they want to open the vault. 

So seeing it on Jack, so proudly carrying it on his back, did something to Eric. His fingers twitched, already begging to seek out Jack’s touch. Words tried to form on his tongue, but his jaw refused to open and tell Jack his thoughts. What all of this meant to him.

“Bittle,” Jack said, his eyes searching for something on Eric’s face. Those beautiful blues were something Eric wanted to keep on him, trained, focused, yet found, and soft. “I’m going to give you two options. No matter which one you choose, I won’t fight you on it. Do you want to come in there with me and see Kent face to face, or do you want to stay here and come in later?”

“With you,” Eric said, hesitation was nowhere to be found.

“Okay. Take off the jacket and stay right on my heel.”

Eric nodded and did as he was told. 

The small gym smelled of sweat and was filled with the sound of Kent’s hard breathing and the impact of his fists against the bag. Eric was sure that at any time now his heart would give out right on the spot. He lightly kept a hold on the hem of Jack’s shirt, that way if he went down at least Jack would notice. 

Eventually, Kent took notice of their presence. He laughed, almost like he didn’t believe his eyes, tugged out his earphones and wiped sweat from his forehead as if they were just having a casual chat. 

“I don’t know why this is actually shocking to me, Zimms.” Kent took off his boxing gloves and tossed them to the side. “Like, I know on some level that this was gonna happen, yet here I am.”

“Kent, you know I don’t want to do this.” Jack’s tone was solid and unwavering. He believed in the words he was telling Kent.

“I don’t know why you’re fighting yourself, Jack,” Kent said. “This is who you are, it’s who we are.”

“Kent, I told you. Years ago. I’m done.”

“We both know that isn’t true. Just, maybe not here. In Boston.”

“Kent-”

“Come back to Montreal with me, Jack! C’mon, I’ll talk to whoever I need to. They still haven’t filled your slot. Why do you think I was sent down here man?”

“I don’t want to go back.”

“So you’re gonna stay here with these shitty kids, doing what? Postponing the inevitable? Doing fucking nothing while these idiots run around making a fool of you.”

“Hey!” Eric shouted.

Kent ignored him, still firing at Jack. “But, you know, don’t worrying about looking like an idiot while these toddlers run circles around you. Everyone already knows!”

“Kent-”

“But, running away works too. You’ve done it before. Suck it up, Jack and go do something that will make your dad proud.”

It took Jack three steps to reach Kent and punch him square in the nose. Kent swore, and Eric was sure he heard a crack. Jack was seething with rage. 

“Cool,” Kent said, spitting out blood and ignoring the fact that his nose was very out of place and still dripping blood. “The hard way it is.”

Kent and Jack both brought their fists up and changed stances. Kent clipped Jack’s chin with a right hook, but Jack recovered quickly. His height and muscle mass gave Jack the advantage of momentum over Kent, so he grabbed Kent by the waist and tackled him to the floor. Both of them were throwing punches, trying gain control of the situation.

Eventually, Jack won. He straddled Kent, then grabbed him by his bloodstained collar. 

“I’m. Out,” Jack spat. He let go of Kent and punched him once more in the face.

Kent was ragged, split eyebrow and a black eye that was starting to bloom, but he still managed to give Jack this smirk like he had just won then slowly put his hands up in surrender. “Fine. But that doesn’t mean we’re done.”

“Yes it does,” Eric said, reminding both men that he was still in the room. He took his tranquilizer out of its holster and squatted near Kent’s head.

“Bitty,” Kent sighed. “You’re lookin good. Imagine you got a few new stories to tell now.”

Eric’s face scrunched up in disgust. “You don’t deserve the mercy we’re giving you.”

Kent shrugged in response. 

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” Eric said. He sucked in a breath and tried to keep the tears from falling. “Now, we’re done.”

Eric pressed the tranq to Kent’s neck, pulled the trigger, and waited for him to go unconscious. 

Jack raised and offered a hand to Eric. Instead of standing, Eric handed him the gun and rock back onto his bottom. A loud, wet sob tore out of Eric. He tucked his head between his knees and let himself cry. Cry until his lungs were weak and the large hand placed at the nape of his neck was something outside of himself that he could concentrate on. 

_ “We’re loading hostages out now. What’s it look like upstairs?”  _ Ransom asked.

“Kent’s no longer a problem,” Jack sighed. He poked and prodded and Eric until he looked up at Jack. Jack’s arms were open wide, almost as if he was asking for a hug, then when Eric didn’t understand, he scooped him up in his arms to carry Eric bridal style. 

Eric took it in stride and tucked his head into the crook of Jack’s neck. 

_ “Is this where I yell ‘Jackpot’?”  _ Holster wondered. 

_ “Bro, wrong game.” _

_ “Okay, but all the games where the ace of spades is important don’t have fun words to yell.” _

_ “‘BS’ is fun.” _

_ “Chowder, bro.” _

* * *

All of the Enlightened agents in Boston were put onto a charter bus northbound. The tranquilizer would work its way through their systems while en route and all of them were given notes telling them to never come back to Boston. 

Eric did feel a little bad about it. It wasn’t something he lingered on, however. 

Afterwards, it seemed like everyone slept for days. There was almost never a time when everyone was awake and at the Haus for almost a week. With as much time Eric spent in his room before, he thought that he would have been sick of it. But as soon as his head hit that pillow the first night, he had the best sleep he had since he started college. 

Jack bugged him a lot too. He had realized that yes, Eric was still trying to figure out his feelings for Jack, and still wanted to at least be his friend. Eric appreciated that there were times when he would catch Jack looking at him with an unreadable face and Eric couldn’t help imagine what his face looked like while Eric was experiencing the worst thing to ever happen to him. 

He was comfortable with Jack, trusted him still, but whether or not he could let himself be vulnerable around Jack again was something he went back and forth on a lot. Eric knew Jack was different, he knew that Jack would never hurt him. There was still the lingering ‘what if’ that kept Eric from committing. 

Keeping Jack dangling like that wasn’t fair.

Knocking on Jack’s door at five in the morning was something that he should have felt bad about. Eric took a nap earlier in the day that threw off his inner clock, and couldn’t stop feeling phantom pain. Jack still opened the door, wearing pajama bottoms and his hair a mess. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked when he noticed Eric hugging himself. 

“I just, um. Do you think you can--can hold me? Or something.” Eric was already turning on his heels to go back to his own room, messing with his hair because he finally got a haircut so he couldn’t stop touching it. “I’m sorry, it was stupid to ask. I’ll see you.”

“Bitty,” Jack said, reaching out to him. “Yeah, come in.”

Eric made himself at home in Jack’s sheets. They were almost the same as Eric’s but they felt warm and smelled of Downey and Old Spice. Jack folded himself in behind Eric, mindful of where he placed his hand to hold Eric’s waist. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jack murmured against his hair.

Eric chewed his lip. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Jack was quiet for a moment, the light touch of Jack’s fingers against Eric’s skin trying desperately to carve glyphs there to keep him safe, was enough to let Eric know that Jack heard him. “I think, I would have eventually. I mean, it’s why I love history and eventually I knew you would want real answers.”

“I wasn’t planning on telling you,” Eric admitted. “I was hoping that I would never have to choose between you and the Resistance. I wanted to protect you from this hectic and crazy world.”

“I wanted to protect you too.” They both fell quiet, content with their answers. “I was falling in love with you.”

Eric’s heart swelled. “I was falling in love with you too.”

“Shhh,” Jack told him. “Get some sleep, Bits. You’re safe now.”

 


End file.
